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THE TATTOOED 
ARM 


Books by 

ISABEL OSTRANDER 

Ashes to Ashes 
The Crimson Blotter 
How Many Cards? 

The Island of Intrigue 
Suspense 


THE TATTOOED 
ARM 


BY 


ISABEL OSTRANDER 

it 





NEW YORK 

ROBERT M. McBRIDE y COMPANY 


Copyright, 1921, by 
Robert M. McBride & Co. 



Printed in the 
United States of America 



Published June, 1922 

JUL 14 1922-i 

0 

©CI.AB74917 C 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 


4 ° 


Three Mad Hatters 

The Strangest of All Cases . 

A Broken Man 

Through the Window . 

The Second Envelope . 

Queries 

MacDonell of Glen Garry 
The Fourth Victim . 

The Lady in Brown 
Jack Galloway, Gardener 

Two Meetings 

The Empty Room . 

Divided Trails 

Written in Haste . 

Scottie Mixes In . 

Daylight 

The Root of All Evil . 

“I Have Always Known!” . 
Dick Declares Himself In 
The Speaking Eye . 

The Whispered Name . 

The Grave of the Past 

Before Dawn 

The New Day 


page 

9 

22 

33 

45 

54 

69 

79 

91 

105 

118 

129 

140 

150 

163 

174 

185 

195 

206 

216 

230 

241 

251 

260 

272 



\ 


THE TATTOOED 
ARM 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


CHAPTER I 

THREE MAD HATTERS 

AN eminently respectable attorney was John Wells, of 
r\ Wells, Burchard & Wells, so respectable that his 
appearance in court was enough in itself to impress 
a jury favorably toward his client, and so eminent that he 
might long ago have retired had bridge or golf or even a 
presidential nomination offered him the mental dissipation 
to which legal problems had for a lifetime addicted him. 

Yet, because of the dainty, exquisitely groomed little 
Patricia Drake who was seated opposite him at the consul- 
tation table in his inner sanctum, John Wells was, for the 
first time, telephoning to Police Headquarters and request- 
ing as a favor the confidential services of the most intelligent 
of the younger men connected with the detective bureau. 

The desire expressed from such a source caused in an 
incredibly short space of time the appearance at his office 
of a tall, dark-haired young man: a young man in well-cut, 
carelessly worn clothes and with a polite but bored manner 
which rather hinted that he could have personal knowledge 
of the Police Department only through the possible mis- 
adventure of driving one of his cars beyond the speed limit 
and being caught at it. Yet on being announced this young 
man observed in crisp, clear-cut accents: 


10 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Headquarters, Mr. Wells. I am Sergeant Miles. You 
sent for me?” 

John Wells granted the new arrival a swift, shrewd 
glance of appraisal . The young man’s appearance evidently 
satisfied him, for with a slight gesture he indicated not only 
his youthful, feminine client but a vacant chair facing the 
cold light of early spring. 

“Miss Drake, this is Sergeant Miles. I should advise 
you to be as frank with him as you have been with me, and 
I have no doubt he will solve our little problem for us. Be 
seated here, Sergeant, if you please.” 

The detective bowed formally and took the chair indi- 
cated, and the young girl drew a quick, convulsive breath. 

“How — how do you do? I would have consulted an alien- 
ist rather than my father’s attorney had it not been for the 
fact that I feel that I, at least, am still sane, Sergeant 
Miles, and Mr. Wells agrees with me that the matter upon 
which I have come to him, incomprehensible as it appears, 
may have some logical solution, however dreadful! — Do — 
do you know anything about psychology?” 

“Psychology” from a big-eyed, eighteen-year-old girl! 
Owen Miles, university graduate, pauperized by his father’s 
mining operations, and member of the Police Department 
through an innate passion for criminology, pricked up his 
ears, repressed a smile and replied gravely: 

“A little, Miss Drake. Enough, I think, for practxal 
purposes. I am all attention.” 

It was John Wells’ turn to conceal surprise at the culti- 
vated, veiledly amused accents of this most extraordinary 
emissary from Headquarters, but the young girl merely 
fingered her handbag nervously, hesitated a moment and 
then spoke in a quick little rush. 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


11 


'Then perhaps you can understand why, with no insanity 
in the family as far back as we can trace, three dignified, 
middle-aged gentlemen, brothers, should suddenly become 
victims of the wildest hallucinations like — like three Mad 
Hatters, and do such queer, ridiculous things that they are 
the talk of the town.” There was a hint of tears in her 
voice. “I suppose this will seem disrespectful when I tell 
you that it is of my father and my two uncles I am speaking, 
but it is the truth!” 

“What sort of hallucinations have they, Miss Drake?” 
Sergeant Miles demanded eagerly. “What are the strange 
things they do?” 

“Perhaps,” the attorney interposed in his urbane, well- 
rounded tones, “it will be well for me to tell you a little of 
Miss Drake’s family before she continues, so that you may 
the better comprehend this extraordinary situation. She is 
the daughter of Hobart Drake of the New York Stock 
Exchange. His wife died when Miss Patricia, here, was 
born, and she was brought up by his maiden sister, Miss 
Jerusha Drake, a lady, I may say, of the soundest practical 
commonsense. They have always lived in the old family 
residence out on Long Island; at Brooklea, which is a 
sleepy little village just within the borders of Greater New 
York, you know, Sergeant, or I should not have been able 
to enlist your services.” 

Owen Miles nodded quickly without speaking, and the 
attorney went on: 

“Five years ago, Roger Drake, the oldest of the family 
and a scientist of world-wide reputation, returned from 
Europe to the old home at Brooklea. A few months since, 
the other brother, Andrew, came back from Australia — 
where he had amassed quite a fortune, even for these times, 


12 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


in sheep-ranching on an extensive scale — and thus com- 
pleted the family circle. You can see from their various 
interests and pursuits that the three brothers are widely 
dissimilar in character and temperament, yet a very great 
affection has always existed between them, which years of 
separation could not change. I have known them all since 
they were mere boys and I can speak from personal observa- 
tion. Pat,” Wells turned to the young girl, “how long 
ago did you first notice anything unusual in the manner of 
your father or uncles, and did all three exhibit the symptoms 
at the same time?” 

“No. Poor father was the first to — to break out.” Her 
lips quivered. “I thought that you must surely have heard 
of it, for people put the most — most scandalous construction 
on it, connected with the wine cellar, and I know that it 
wasn’t true! Father has a large private stock, of course, 
but you know yourself, Mr. Wells, how seldom he ever 
touches it.” 

“I know, my child.” The attorney nodded in turn and 
sat back in his chair. “Go on.” 

“I don’t know whether it has anything to do with it, of 
course, but for the past month or two I have fancied that 
father was worried about something or else he was not very 
well. He looked tired all the time and seemed to lose 
weight, and he was quite irritable now and then over al- 
most nothing. I didn’t think very seriously about it, 
though, until that dreadful time a fortnight ago when 
right in the middle of the night we were all awakened by 
a loud sounding of the brass knocker on the front door, and 
finally Carter went down in his bathrobe and opened it — 
Carter is our butler and he has been with the family since 
long b'efore I was born,” Patricia explained to the detec- 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


13 


tive. “I was leaning over the balustrade, and what do you 
think I saw? Our local policeman— but he’s still called 
‘constable’ — Sam Clark, and he was bringing in a stout 
figure dressed all in flowing white like a ghost, that reeled 
as it walked. I didn’t recognize it until Sam spoke but I 
think I must have given a little cry, for Aunt Jerusha, 
who had been standing in her bedroom door, came up and 
leaned over the rail beside me and she heard it, too. ‘I’ve 
brought Mr. Hobart home, Carter,’ Sam said. ‘If I was 
you I’d get him to bed real quiet, but in the morning you 
tell him for me that if it happens again we’ll have to con- 
fiscate what he’s got left down in that, there cellar of his.’ ” 
“Aunt Jerusha started right down stairs, hair crimpers 
and all, and demanded to know what Sam meant, and he 
said: ‘He was down in front of the soldiers’ monument, 
ma’am, rigged out in these here bed-sheets like you see 
him now, and spouting like a Fourth of July orator that he 
was Julius Caesar. Lucky it was so late or he’d have had 
the whole town jround him, but as it is an automobile party 
stopped, and Old Man Tomlin was there and two- three 
more that had been hanging ’round the Mansion House, 
and every dog from here to Hempstead. He wouldn’t 
pay no attention to me but soon’s I touched him he seemed 
to sort of collapse and he come along home without any 
trouble. I guess he ain’t feeling very well, ma’am, but 
he’ll likely be all right in the morning.’ ” 

Patricia had given an unconsciously graphic imitation 
of the country constable, but as she paused and covered 
her face with her hands there was nothing of amusement 
in the expressions of either of her hearers. John Wells 
was very grave and his eyes sought the detective’s eagerly 
interested ones in mute questioning. 


14 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Did you get a closer view of your father, Miss Drake?” 
the latter asked after a moment. 

Patricia dropped her hands and though her own eyes 
were very bright there was no sign of tears, but a flush 
of anger and humiliation burned brightly in her childishly 
rounded cheeks. 

“Yes. As soon as the constable finished speaking Aunt 
Jerusha declared that what he had insinuated was an 
outrageous lie, that father must have walked in his sleep; 
and Sam Clark went away. Edward, the houseman, 
passed me to go down and help Carter get father to his 
room and Aunt Jerusha called up to me to go straight 
back to bed, but I wouldn’t. While the constable was 
talking I had heard a sort of gasp behind me and turned to 
find Uncle Roger there, staring down at father with such 
a shocked, horrified expression that I thought he was 
going to have a stroke or something. I put my hand on 
his arm and it seemed to steady him, and we stood there 
together watching them bring father upstairs.” 

“Can you describe your father’s appearance when he 
came close to you, Miss Drake?” Sergeant Miles per- 
sisted, but very gently. 

Patricia shuddered. 

“I shall never be able to forget it!” she exclaimed. 
“He’s quite portly, you know, but he seemed to have 
become shrunken and the flesh of his face hung in grayish 
folds. He put his feet forward mechanically like a — a 
person in a dream, leaning all his weight on Carter and 
Edward, and his eyes were half closed, but just at the 
door of his room he turned and stared back without recog- 
nizing or even appearing to see us, as though he were de- 
mented! I wanted to send for a doctor but Aunt Jerusha 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


15 


wouldn’t have it and even Uncle Roger demurred.” 

“And where was your other uncle, Mr. Andrew Drake, 
during this time? You said that you had all been awakened 
when the constable sounded the knocker.” 

“Did I? I meant all except Uncle Andrew. He never 
heard a thing, but slept right through it all.” Patricia 
paused. “He is awfully jolly and likes to make a joke out 
of everything, and the next morning at breakfast when 
Uncle Roger told him what had occurred he tried to make 
light of it, but when he learned how really ill father was 
he was terribly worried and anxious and angry, too, that 
he had not been awakened.” 

“Your father was seriously ill, then?” 

“Yes. He kept to his room for several days but he 
wouldn’t have a doctor, and Aunt Jerusha told me that 
he had often walked in his sleep as a child and she was 
afraid the trouble was returning again. It was a week 
before he went to his office in Wall Street and he hasn’t 
gone to the village once,— I don’t blame him!” Her small 
gloved hands clenched on the arms of her chair. “The 
things that were said and the horrid jokes that have been 
made! I was ashamed before — before everybody, but it 
is even worse now! I just couldn’t endure it any longer, - 
wondering what dreadful thing was going to happen next, 
and so I came to Mr. Wells.” 

“ Tt is even worse now?’ ” the detective repeated. “You 
mean that your uncles have exhibited similar signs of — 
er — eccentricity?” Patricia nodded. 

“Not exactly similar, but they have done things that 
it seems to me only people whose minds were deranged 
would do! And Aunt Jerusha’s attitude is the most in- 
explicable of all!” 


16 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“My dear Pat!” John Wells exclaimed. “You cannot 
mean that she also !” 

“Oh, no, Aunt Jerusha hasn’t gone crazy too, but she 
insists in the face of everything that there is nothing wrong 
and that she will not have any doctors consulted. When 
I suggested an alienist this morning she was angrier than 
I have ever seen her. She just goes around tight-lipped 
and white, and holds her head higher than ever, but I made 
up my mind that something must be done if we were to 
avoid everlasting disgrace! People are beginning to shun 
me already, as though we had some fearful contagious 
mental disease in the house.” Patricia bit her lips and the 
tears stood frankly in her eyes now, but she controlled 
herself and went on: “Nothing more happened for the 
first week after father’s strange attack of somnambulism 
or dementia or whatever it was, except that Uncle Roger, 
who had been so horrified over it, seemed to grow more 
deeply troubled as father became better. He has always 
been very dignified and grave in his manner, but he went 
about the house after that like a mere shadow of his former 
self and was so absent-minded that it was necessary to 
speak to him several times before one could attract his 
attention. He had promised to give a lecture on one of his 
favorite hobbies, archaeology, at the High School last 
Wednesday, and I thought that he was worrying about 
that, too, because he was always retiring and hated to 
come out of his shell. If I had only known!” 

“What do you mean, Miss Drake?” Sergeant Miles 
leaned forward in his chair. “Was the lecture not given!” 

“It was!” Bitterness sharpened her soft, girlish tones. 
“And the next day the village was talking worse than it 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


17 


had over father’s behavior! Brooklea is a sleepy little 
place, as Mr. Wells says, but there are a number of cul- 
tured, scholarly people among the older families who have 
formed literary and scientific clubs and try to keep up with 
modern research. These formed the bulk of the audience 
at the lecture, which I am happy to say none of the rest 
of our household attended, owing to the gossip and scandal 
about father. Sergeant Miles, that lecture was the most 
hideous travesty imaginable! Had it been utterly mean- 
ingless, sheer drivel, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but I 
understand that it was a fairly clever satire, casting 
ridicule on the archaeological discoveries of recent years, 
and the audience didn’t know whether to laugh with Uncle 
Roger at his unexpected joke or to feel affronted at his 
insult to their intelligence. Mehitabel attended prayer 
meeting that evening and when she came home I knew by 
her face that something was wrong, although she went 
straight to Aunt Jerusha’s room without a word to me. 
She has been my aunt’s maid since they were girls together 
and they don’t stand on much ceremony with each other. 

‘‘The next day everybody went about as though there — 
there had been a funeral in the house, but no one told me 
anything until the tradesmen began to come with the gossip, 
and then Mr. Grayle came over and I heard it all. It 
was awful!” 

“Who is Mr. Grayle?” queried the detective. 

“A neighbor of ours, a naturalist,” Patricia responded. 
“He and Uncle Roger have been great friends ever since he 
bought The Rose Tree, next to the Kemp estate ” 

She paused and a deeper flush suffused her face. Ser- 
geant Miles glanced at the attorney, who smiled and nodded 
almost imperceptibly. 


18 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“What was your uncle’s explanation of the unlooked-for 
trend of his lecture?” The detective ignored the young 
girl’s hesitation. 

“He made none.” She shrugged. “He looked dread- 
fully worn and ill but he was as dignified as ever and 
merely said that he regretted his discourse had not met 
with the approval of his hearers. The village was all stirred 
up for the rest of the week, but on Saturday when the pa- 
per came out there was a perfect furore. The editor didn’t 
consider Uncle Roger’s lecture either a witticism or an 
affront but intimated as clearly as he dared that it was 
the work of a disordered mind and recalled father’s oration 
before the soldiers’ monument, insinuating that they had 
both fallen victims to some strange aberration. Of course 
it wasn’t as broad as that, but everybody could read be- 
tween the lines — and did! In the very face of it Aunt 
Jerusha made me go to church with her yesterday, and I 
never thought I could go through such an agony of morti- 
fication! People bowed, but the way they stared and 
whispered made me want to fall right down and die!” 

“Perhaps you imagined it, my dear Pat,” John Wells 
suggested consolingly. “Your family are among the oldest 
residents of Brooklea and have been there for generations, 
respected by everyone. It may be that with your father’s 
little — er — adventure still fresh in their minds, the audience 
magnified some eccentricity or arbitrary statement in your 
uncle’s lecture, and such an incident would be manna in 
the wilderness to a country editor.” 

“No, Mr. Wells.” Patricia sighed. “I should like to 
think that, but somebody who was present took the lecture 
down in shorthand and sent a copy to a scientific journal 
and the editors wrote to Uncle Roger that they were going 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


19 


to send a representative down to interview him this week. 
From the tone of the letter there was no mistaking what 
their attitude was! When we returned from church yes- 
terday I made up my mind that whether Aunt Jerusha liked 
it or not I would come in town to see you today. Then 
when Uncle Andrew was found this morning !” 

She broke off once more as though too much overcome 
for the moment to continue. The detective and the attorney 
glanced silently at each other before the latter remarked: 

“Go on, my child. Tell the sergeant exactly what you 
told me.” 

“When — when Edward, the houseman, went down to 
clean the front hall earlier than it is customary for any of 
the family to be about, he heard funny sounds coming from 
the drawing-room. On opening the door he found Uncle 
Andrew sitting on the floor in his pajamas, playing like a 
child with some ornaments which he had taken from the 
cabinet and mantel. When he saw Edward he ran toward 
him on all fours growling as though he were pretending to 
be some kind of an animal. Edward has never gotten 
over being shell-shocked and he has been more nervous 
than ever since the night when the constable brought 
father home. This morning was the last straw and he 
gave immediate notice, so Aunt Jerusha sent me into town 
to engage another houseman, and a gardener, too, now 
that the spring is opening up. That gave me my oppor- 
tunity to come and consult Mr. Wells.” She hesitated 
once more. “I don't know, though, what she will say 
when she sees you, Sergeant, nor how you can account 
for your presence; if she knew that I had been instrumental 
in bringing an investigator there ” 

“She need see in me only what she sent for — the new 


20 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


houseman,” Sergeant Miles announced with a disarming 
smile. “I confess I never heard of one employed in a 
private residence before in place of a housemaid, but I 
fancy his duties would be identical, with the addition of 
window-washing and porch-cleaning. I can fill the posi- 
tion competently while I am carrying on my investigation 
and no one but Mr. Wells and yourself need know that I 
am other than what I seem.” 

Patricia's blue eyes opened very wide. 

“Oh, could you?” she breathed. “That would be splendid 
because you could watch everything that went on in- 
doors ” 

“I want an assistant outside as well,” interrupted the 
detective. “You say that a gardener is needed, too?” 

“Yes. We have a general handy man, Euripides Lunt, 
but he doesn’t know anything about pruning or growing 
flowers; he just rakes the paths and driveway, and trims 
the borders and mows the lawn. You — you don’t know 
any detective who is a gardener, too, do you?” 

“The very man!” Sergeant Miles exclaimed with en- 
thusiasm. “He has retired from the Police Department 
now but he will be glad to take this on with me for the 
sheer gratification of solving the mystery, if we can. He 
comes of a long line of Scotch gardeners and is a perfect 
wizard at making things grow; I am sure, Miss Drake, 
that your aunt will be more than satisfied with his work. 
I’ll bring him out on the late afternoon train.” 

“It will be necessary for you to have some sort of reference 
or recommendation, if you can manage it, Sergeant, for 
Aunt Jerusha is very strict and — and peculiar in some 
ways.” Patricia looked a trifle doubtful. “She is very 
sensible and practical, as Mr. Wells says, but ” 


THREE MAD HATTERS 


21 


‘‘Miss Drake, like most maiden ladies of settled age, 
has her idiosyncracies,” John Wells interposed smoothly. 
“For instance, she will tolerate no women servants in the 
house except her own maid, of whom her niece has told 
you, and she has always been proud to the point of arro- 
gance of the family position in the community, but you 
will find her eminently sensible and level-headed. I think 
your suggestion is a good one, Sergeant, and I shall look 
for some interesting developments.” 

Patricia glanced from one serious face to the other. 

“Then you don’t think it is just that they’re losing 
their minds, my father and — and my uncles? You don’t 
think my aunt will be the next to go and then — per- 
haps !” 

She faltered once more, but her meaning was unmistak- 
able, and, although the attorney was discreetly silent, he 
laid one slim, blue- veined hand upon her arm reassuringly. 
It was the young police sergeant who responded, and there 
was a peculiar ambiguity in his tones. 

“Perhaps you, yourself?” he finished for her. “No, my 
dear Miss Drake, from the bare facts which you have been 
able to give me I do not think that either you or your aunt 
are in any danger of falling victims to such unusual symp- 
toms as have manifested themselves in the other members 
of your family. The hope that I may be of some small 
service in helping to restore them to their normal state 
of mind is the most urgent factor in my desire to undertake 
this investigation.” 


CHAPTER II 

THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 


“1\ /TY professional experience has been a long and 
1 V I var ^ one > Sergeant«Miles, but I am willing to 
admit to you in confidence that I have never 
encountered so strange a case,” John Wells remarked to 
the detective when the office door had closed behind their 
young client. “Have you?” 

“None with exactly these features, sir,” the other 
replied. “I need not remind you, however, of what the 
records themselves show: that the more unusual the factors 
in a problem, the easier it is of solution when once you hit 
upon — well, let us say, the greatest common denominator. 
Paradoxically, it is the commonplace which proves the 
most baffling. Please don’t misunderstand me; I’m not 
cocksure about this affair, by any means, but I am tre- 
mendously interested. Can you tell me anything more of 
these people? Anything, I mean, which you might not 
have cared to go into before Miss Drake? You say that 
you have known them all for practically a generation.” 

“I have been the attorney for Hobart Drake and his 
sister Jerusha for the past twenty years and their affairs 

22 


THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 23 


are in perfect shape.” The attorney sat back in his chair 
and placed the tips of his fingers together reflectively. 
“Roger’s brilliant scientific career speaks for itself and 
Andrew made a big financial success of his sheep ranch. 
He came to me on his return to this country in regard 
to investing his capital and I found that he had more than 
doubled his share of the original inheritance. Hobart’s 
daughter, whom you just met, is an heiress in her own 
right through the estate left by her mother. They are 
one of the oldest families in that section of Long Island and 
hitherto the most respected. As little Miss Patricia told 
you, there has never been a hint of insanity in any past 
generation of which I ever heard.” 

“You have known them, then, only since you became the 
attorney for Miss Drake’s father and her aunt?” Sergeant 
Miles asked after a slight pause. 

“I had been acquainted with the whole family for many 
years, but not intimately so.” There was a note of sur- 
prise in Wells’ voice. “My father’s old homestead was 
near theirs but I was more than ten years older than any 
of them and then they were not the sort to encourage 
friendship; they held themselves aloof from the neighbors 
with the bitter pride of poverty which resents the memory 
of past affluence. But why do you ask, Sergeant?” 

“Because if Miss Drake plays her part and enables me 
to investigate from the inside I shall be able to study her 
relatives as they now are for myself, but if you don’t mind, 
I should like to know how they impressed you; in the old 
days before prosperity returned to them, I mean,” the de- 
tective explained frankly. “Later I want to try to gauge, 
if I can, just what changes the past twenty years have made 
in their several characters. It’s evident from the widely 


24 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


different careers which they chose that, as you tell me, 
the three brothers are as far apart in temperament as the 
poles.’ * 

4 They always were.” Wells nodded reminiscently. 

“Roger is the oldest of the family — he must be about 
forty-eight — and except in outward appearance he has 
changed the least, in my estimation. He was always a 
dreamer, a shy, ascetic, introspective sort of youth. 
Andrew, two years his junior, was just the opposite; 
boisterous and fun-loving, and more sociable than any of 
the rest. Jerusha — Miss Drake — comes next. She was 
demure but dignified and austere even as a mere girl; in a 
word, typically mid-Victorian. 

Miles nodded. “And what of the third brother, the 
father of the young lady?” 

“There you will find the greatest change, Sergeant.” 
The attorney spoke hastily and in a more confidential tone 
“Hobart was a drab, colorless young bank clerk, stoop- 
shouldered at twenty-three, conscientious, but wholly 
without ambition to get out of the rut. Now he is a dynamic 
force on the Street and until this unfortunate episode the 
leading citizen of his community. I have noticed though, 
as his daughter has, that for the last month or so he has 
appeared to have something on his mind, but I put it down 
to an impending deal of more than ordinary importance. 
I cannot believe that his sanity is in question, much less 
that all three brothers should be attacked at virtually the 
same time! I feel that there must be some other explana- 
tion!” 

“That is self-evident, since you communicated with 
Headquarters on their behalf, Mr. Wells.” 

John Wells half rose from his chair and then controlled 


THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 25 


himself with more of an effort than he had ever displayed 
in court. 

“Yes, and for an investigator of the utmost discretion!” 
he replied. “I could not very well apply for a lunacy 
commission without the consent of the elder Miss Drake, 
which I know would never be given, but it is imperative 
that Miss Patricia’s story be fully looked into and this 
astounding state of affairs cleared up. I would not have 
given credence to the child for a moment, I would have 
thought that she herself was the victim of some form of 
hysteria amounting to temporary dementia, but I have 
heard rumors ” 

He halted suddenly but the other caught him up. 

“There have been other manifestations of — er — eccen- 
tricity, sir?” 

“No, no! The tale of Hobart Drake’s midnight oration 
has leaked out on the Street, however, and become more or 
less of a joke, although I am sure that the fact has not 
reached his ears,” Wells explained. “The generally ac- 
cepted reason, as Miss Patricia told you, was that he must 
have gone too deeply into his private stock; if he did, it 
will have been the first time in all my knowledge of him. 
Then, too, an old friend of mine, a professor at a certain 
well-known university, was present at that lecture of 
Roger’s last Wednesday, and to say that he was astounded 
is putting it mildly. He called upon me the following eve- 
ning and gave me the gist of it, and I fear that it will cause 
even greater mischief than little Miss Patricia suggested. 
It was more than a clever travesty, casting ridicule on the 
archaeological discoveries of recent years, Sergeant; it 
was a deliberate, libelous satire on the achievements of 
several noted personages in the scientific world, with 


26 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


devilishly close imitations of the characteristic, individual 
literary style of each in recent signed articles of theirs, 
and unless some adequate explanation can be produced in 
the immediate future, Roger Drake will be stripped of 
the honors that have been heaped upon him. And he is 
the gentlest, most sensitive soul alive!” 

There was a brief pause and then Sergeant Miles asked: 

“Have you heard anything except from Miss Patricia 
about Mr. Andrew Drake’s peculiar actions this morning?” 

“No, but as she in no way exaggerated her account of 
the other two incidents I am fully prepared to believe her 
statement concerning this.” The attorney pushed back 
his chair. Rising, he moved to the window, where he 
stood for a moment gazing out at the clustering, irregular 
tops of the lesser office buildings. Then he wheeled sud- 
denly. “Sergeant, I haven’t a theory, a suspicion, an idea 
of a possible solution! The whole thing is monstrous, 
incredible! If I were ignorant and superstitious, if I 
believed in the Evil Eye !” 

He left the sentence unfinished and Owen Miles smiled 
slightly once more. 

“But science has proved the existence of the modern 
equivalent of the Evil Eye, hasn’t it? Isn’t that what 
you’re getting at?” 

“You are a remarkably shrewd young man, Sergeant, 
and the Chief didn’t make any mistake when he sent you 
to me!” Wells smiled too, but drily. “You mean hypno- 
tism, of course? I confess that something of that sort was in 
the back of my head, and although it seems too bizarre a 
thought to entertain seriously, we are up against the weird- 
est situation imaginable! If these three brothers are not 
the victims of some strange drug, self-administered or other- 


THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 27 


wise, which is slowly driving them mad, what possible 
alternative explanation is there? — I know that this sounds 
in itself like the raving of a deranged mind but since that 
child’s visit today I seem to be in a nightmare! I am forced 
to accept as facts things which my logical mind utterly 
refuses to assimilate.” 

“Yet they are facts, evidently, sir.” The detective rose 
also and picked up his hat from the desk. “That being 
granted, there must, of course, be an explanation for them, 
and I shall do my utmost to discover what it is. The Old 
Man detailed me to any job you wanted of me, so I take it 
I am to report here to you?” 

“Yes. Not a word at Headquarters of what you may 
learn until — unless — I give you permission; I will use my 
influence there. Above all, not an inkling to the press, a 
hint of notoriety, or matters might better take their course 
unhindered, no matter what the outcome may be. It is 
not only that these people are old friends and valued 
clients of mine, but I want to protect that young girl’s 
future from the echo of as much of this gossip and scandal 
as I can; there is bound to be a terrific amount of it, in all 
conscience.” 

“I understand.” Sergeant Miles hesitated. “Are you 
sure that the young lady can be depended upon in the 
excitement of some sudden crisis which might arise, not to 
betray to the other members of the family the fact that I 
am other than the supposed houseman — in short, that I 
am a detective from the police department?” 

“Quite sure,” the attorney responded gravely. “For all 
her inexperience she is remarkably well poised for her 
years and has much of the strength of character of her aunt. 
However, it may become necessary for you yourself to 


28 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


betray your identity and assert your authority in no 
uncertain terms, Sergeant. Foreseeing that contingency, 
I communicated with your Chief rather than employ the 
services of a private detective, preferring an official vested 
with full power to act in whatever manner he saw fit for 
the safety of my clients, should any actual danger threaten 
them. We do not know what this strangest of all cases 
may bring forth.” 

“I had that in mind and it will simplify matters for both 
my colleague and myself that you have given us a free 
rein.” Miles spoke in a relieved tone. “Unless the neces- 
sity arises the older members of the family will never know 
my official occupation. I will take up no more of your 
time now, sir, but if I should require any further informa- 
tion from you ?” 

“You will find me here or at my home. I shall turn over 
all court cases to my junior partners until this affair has 
been brought to a conclusion. You will be able to arrange 
for the references for yourself and your gardener-assistant 
in order to satisfy Miss Drake, will you not? She is exceed- 
ingly particular.” 

“There will be no difficulty about that, and as for 
Scottie, his very appearance would be recommendation 
enough even if he were not the expert gardener that he 
really is ” 

“ ‘Scottie’?” John Wells interrupted in gratified surprise. 
“You don't mean Fergus McCready, who caught the 
Harmon murderers? I have not heard of him in years, but 
you can get no one more able, if you can persuade him to 
come out of his retirement.” 

“I am confident that I can,” replied Miles. “He has a 
flourishing nursery a little way out in Jersey but he will 


THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 29 


never lose interest in the old game and he has helped me 
on more than one case. Good-day, Mr. Wells. You will 
hear from me when I have anything to report. ” 

He bowed and turned to go, but the attorney took two 
quick strides forward and held out his hand. 

“Goodbye, Sergeant, and good luck!” 

The afternoon was well advanced when Sergeant Owen 
Miles approached the long lines of glistening greenhouses 
set in the pleasant rolling country near a country club. 
He paused in amazement as a deep, hearty voice hailed him 
from the golf links. Turning, he beheld a stocky, robust 
figure, clad in the nattiest of sport suits, striding toward 
him and waving a driver in greeting. A cap was set jauntily 
upon one side of his head above a round, red, good-natured 
face, and the grizzled, sandy beard did not wholly conceal 
the straight column of his strong, bull throat. 

“Welcome, lad! It’s a year and more since you’ve been 
out to see me and I was commencing to think you’d forgot 
the old man!” 

“What the dickens !” Miles stared as they ciasped 

hands. “Scottie, what’s come over you that you are 
foozling around with the idle rich at a country club? I 
expected to find you in overalls messing about your green- 
house!” 

“Didn’t you hear, Owen, my lad?” Fergus McCready, 
otherwise known as ‘Scottie’ in the police department and 
the criminal courts of the metropolis and as such held in 
their affectionate esteem, beamed joyously on his youthful 
friend. “ Tis a pity you do not keep up with horticulture! 
I’ve a new rose that’s bringing me a pile of money; it’s little 
and thorny, but sturdy and blush-pink and fragrant, and I 


30 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


named it after my mother, the 1 Susan McCready.’ This 
mushroom community of suburbanites that has sprung up 
out here has seen fit to take me up social , like, and I’ve taken 
up my own national game to keep down the shape I was 
getting of a tulip bulb — but bide you here till I go back and 
find my ball before that young devil of a caddie pockets it! 
’Tis almost new.” 

Retrieving the object of his solicitude he rejoined the 
sergeant and together they made their way to the modest 
little cottage beside the nursery. When the sergeant had 
congratulated his host upon his achievement he added: 

"I’m selfish enough to feel a little down in the mouth, 
though, Scottie. I’ve got a bigger game on than golf and 
I hoped you would like to take a hand in it with me, but 
now that you are a social favorite and have this new rose 
to grow besides ” 

He paused suggestively and Scottie rose to the bait. 

“I’ve plenty of good gardeners to look after* the 1 Susan,’ ” 
he declared hastily. “There’s not the excitement in chas- 
ing a wee white ball as in trailing a mankiller and I was 
never cut out for society. I knew well that it was not 
to inquire after my health that you came'to me this after- 
noon. What is the case, laddie?” 

“It’s one after your own heart, Scottie!” Miles rapidly 
detailed the problem as presented to him by little Miss 
Patricia Drake and her attorney, and the other listened 
with absorbed attention, betraying his astonishment only 
by an occasional grunt and the fact that he permitted his 
pipe to go out unheeded. 

When the story was concluded he remarked briefly: 

“I’m with you. It may be a madhouse we’re going to 
but it sounds to me like something very different. I’ve 


THE STRANGEST OF ALL CASES 31 


only one regret; I must shave off this grand beard that I 
have been raising for the past year. ’Tis not fitting for a 
gardener. We’re to take the late afternoon train from the 
city?” 

“I am; not you!” Miles responded with a laugh. “And 
don’t shave that beard off yet, it is going to come in handy 
in the next few days, as will your golf clothes and vour 
knowledge of the game itself.” 

Scottie cocked a twinkling but wary eye upon his friend. 

“ ’Tis not only a gardener that I am to be, then, but 
an actor, eh? Give me the dope, lad.” 

“I saw the Chief after I left Wells’ office and made all 
the necessary arrangements for references, your past po- 
sitions — and my own, of course, — but now that I realize 
your social possibilities, Scottie, I see where you can do a 
whole lot which would have taken us weeks to accomplish 
otherwise. I’ll manage somehow to get to the telegraph 
office at Brooklea tomorrow and wire you in the old code. 
Pack up all the sportiest country-club clothes you have 
and when you hear from me drop in at Centre Street and 
you’ll find some society introductions which will pave the 
way for a distinguished Scotchman to become a guest of 
the country club at Brooklea for two or three days, and — 
circulate around. Get me?” 

“I do!” Scottie replied with unction. “The idea is that 
I am to put on as much of the speech of my forefathers 
as I can remember while I am doing the Laird, and then 
come back to the city, lose my beard and my burr and 
present myself at the Drake place when you give me notice? 
Have you thought out the names I’m to use, first as the 
club guest and then with the Drakes?”. 

“That’s up to you, old man.” Miles glanced at the 


32 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


clock and rose. “Tell me tnat, so I can fix it up with the 
Chief and I’ll be moving. I’ve got to make pretty quick 
connections, as it is.” 

“Well, Owen, lad”- — Scottie rose and laid his pipe upon 
the mantel — “there’s no better family in all Scotland 
than the MacDonells, of Glen Garry. At the club in Brook- 
lea I shall be Donald MacDonell, but when I appear to 
grow blooms for the Drakes ’twill be as a Lowlander. 
Let me see — how does the name of Galloway strike you? 
If I’m Jack Galloway when I come as gardener you’ll have 
it arranged with the Chief? At my second appearance in 
Brooklea I’ll be shorn of my beard, and shorn of my bor- 
rowed MacDonell name, but I’ll be on the job.” 


CHAPTER III 


A BROKEN MAN 


J UST after the dinner hour that evening, Sergeant Miles, 
alias William Brown the new houseman, presented him- 
self at the kitchen door of the big, square old 
Colonial house in which so many generations of the Drake 
family had lived. He was admitted by a rotund, twinkling- 
eyed Frenchman of fifty-odd, attired in a capacious white 
apron and cap, who greeted him with shrewd but friendly 
appraisal. 

“Ah, ze new young man Mees Patricia have engage’, 
eh? Carter weel take you to Mees Drake.” 

Before “William” could reply, a smug, elderly person- 
age in the customary black of a butler made his appearance. 

“The houseman? You can leave your bags here in the 
entry. Miss Drake will see you in the servants’ sitting- 
room; she was expecting you by this train. There was a 
gardener coming also, I was given to understand?” 

“The young lady arranged for one who worked at the 
last place but one where I did, but I think they said at the 
agency he couldn’t get away for a few days yet.” Miles 
coughed deferentially. He deposited his bags in the place 

33 


34 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


indicated and followed his guide down a dimly lit hallway 
at the farther end of which he caught a fleeting glimpse of 
a lank, lugubrious female of middle age, who stared at him 
for a moment with dispassionate lack of interest and then 
whisked out of sight around a turn. Evidently she was the 
sole maidservant of the household, the one referred to by 
the young girl as having been her aunt’s maid since they 
two were young. 

The sitting-room proved to be large and comfortably, if 
somewhat shabbily, appointed with massive old furniture, 
probably collected from various other parts of the house. 
As Miles placed his hat upon the center table he heard the 
door close behind him and, turning, saw to his surprise 
that the butler had lingered. 

“I thought I’d give you a little tip if your’re going to 
keep your place here,” he observed in a cautious tone. 
'‘Man and boy, I’ve been with the family for thirty years 
and there isn’t a finer one on Long Island, but they have 
their odd little ways that you don’t want to take notice 
of. The gentlemen get spells like, now and then, and 
you’ll hear silly gossip in the village, but if you’re the 
sensible man I take you to be you’ll pay no more attention 
to it than I do.” 

William laughed confidently. 

“I’ve worked for some queer ones in my time but gentle- 
men, all of them, and I’ve learned to mind my own business, 
be on hand when I’m wanted and keep a close mouth 
afterwards,” he responded. “If I get my wages and fair 
treatment, I figure that what folks do is their affair. I 
take it kindly, though, that you tipped me off.” 

A relieved expression flitted over the butler’s lined, 
worried countenance and he nodded approvingly. 


A BROKEN MAN 


35 


“I guess you’ll do. If there’s anything you want to 
know, about your work I mean, of course, come to me. 
I’ll tell Miss Drake you’re here.” 

He disappeared and William regarded the closing door 
speculatively. Why had the butler seen fit to warn him 
of the strange “spells” manifested by the three brothers? 
Not from a sudden liking, surely, for his tone had been that 
of defensive loyalty. Had he foreknowledge, which Miss 
Patricia did not possess, of another impending scene? 
Could anything further have happened since the 
morning? 

There was little time for idle conjecture, however, for 
almost immediately a rustle of skirts sounded from the 
hall, and a tall, gray-haired woman entered. 

“You are the man my niece engaged?” Her voice was 
deeply contralto and measured in cadence and it seemed to 
Miles that her bright, dark eyes beneath the strong brows 
were attempting to bore him through. “Did she explain 
the duties which would be required of you?” 

“Sweeping and dusting and cleaning the halls and stairs, 
ma’am, and setting the bedrooms to rights, I understood,” 
Miles replied respectfully. “I have been a house steward 
at a club, as you can see from these references, and I was 
second man once at a house where they kept a Jap instead 
of a housemaid or parlormaid, so I think I understand the 
work. Nothing was said, ma’am, about the windows or the 
porches, but I’m perfectly willing ” 

“We have an outside man for that,” Miss Drake inter- 
rupted. Unhooking a pair of eyeglasses from a pin upon 
the flat bosom of her black satin gown she set them upon 
her thin, aquiline nose and glanced rapidly through the 
sheaf of spurious references with which the Chief had 


36 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


supplied his subordinate. It was evident that they were 
more than adequate, for an expression of gracious approval 
crossed her austere countenance as she extended the papers 
to him once more. 

“These seem to be quite satisfactory, William, and we 
will give you a trial. Carter will show you to your room 
and Pierre will have some supper prepared for you in the 
servants’ dining-room. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied deferentially. “Do I 
start work tonight? Turn down the beds or clean around?” 

“No. Tomorrow morning, after your breakfast with the 
other servants at six, you may begin with the lower hall 
and rooms. I will explain your work to you in detail later.” 
She paused in the doorway. “I trust that you will be 
contented here, William; we require only honesty and 
cheerful, unquestioning obedience.” 

Carter, the butler, reappeared soon after Miss Drake’s 
departure and, telling the newcomer to get his bags and 
follow him, he led the way up two flights of back stairs 
to a small but immaculate room at the side of the house, 
furnished with an iron cot and an old-fashioned painted 
bureau, washstand and chair. Clean matting covered the 
floor and fresh white dimity hung on either side of the 
single window, before which a dark green shade had been 
pulled down to the sill. 

“My room is just across the hall and Pierre’s beside 
yours, while the one the gardener will have is next mine,” 
the butler vouchsafed, adding, with a specious clearing of 
his throat, “You said you’d worked in the same place with 
this gardener before, William; what sort of a fellow is 
he?” 

“Oh, he’s grumpy like, and not over sociable, but I 


A BROKEN MAN 


37 


get on with him all right, the little I’ll be seeing him,” 
Miles replied easily, adapting his speech to the form of the 
other’s. “We got to be real friendly and many a time I’d 
go out and have a smoke with him of an evening, though 
he mightn’t say six words in an hour. He’s a Scotchman 
and getting on in years but a wonder with the plants and 
such. There’s five in family here, the young lady said. 
Do they have many parties or much company? It’s not 
that I’m afraid of a little extra work ” 

He paused and Carter who had seemed well content with 
the description of the gardener, as Miles had intended 
that he should be, shook his head a trifle grimly at the 
question. 

“Not now. There’s just the young lady who engaged 
you and her father and her aunt and her two uncles. 
They’ve done precious little entertaining lately.” He 
caught himself up as though fearing he had said too much, 
and then went on hastily: “Your work would be light 
enough for a girl, let alone a man.” 

Miles assumed an air of confusion. 

“I only took the place because I’m used to indoor posi- 
tions and it was the first that offered. If I am doing 
chamberwork, I’m here to prove that I’m as much of a 
man as the next one!” 

“No offense!” Carter exclaimed. “There’s not enough 
to do to keep any of us busy, except maybe your gardener 
friend when he comes. Pierre’ll have a pick-up dinner 
ready for you downstairs and there’s a terrace outside 
where you can smoke afterwards. Miss Drake don’t like 
it in the house.” 

He made a hurried exit and Miles waited until he heard 
the other’s footsteps descending the second flight of stairs 


38 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


before he turned the key in the door, extinguished the light 
and tiptoeing to the window raised the shade. 

Pale moonlight shimmered over a lawn, still brown from 
the winter’s frosts, on which stood clumps of leafless shrub- 
bery, here and there, and an ungainly bulk that appeared 
to be a sort of rustic summerhouse set in a tangled mass of 
bushes. The grounds were enclosed in a squat, uneven 
hedge beyond which rose naked trees, and the roof and 
chimneys of another house showed clearly in the distance 
against the starlit sky. Two shafts of light gleamed out 
from the twin windows of the room directly beneath his 
and from the ground floor a more subdued effulgence 
glowed forth, whitening the strip of driveway which wound 
close to the wall and around toward the rear of the house. 

As he watched, a shambling male figure strolled down 
the drive, pausing for a moment while the tiny flame of a 
match flared up and then continuing kitchenward. The 
detective pulled down the shade and switched on his own 
light once more. It was assuredly neither the rotund 
chef nor the elderly, dignified butler. Could it be the 
“outside man” of whom Miss Drake had spoken or was 
there an eavesdropper, an interloper hanging about the 
place? 

Descending in his turn he found Pierre alone in the 
kitchen, pouring fragrant coffee from a percolator. The 
latter waved him hospitably toward an adjoining dining- 
room, furnished, as had been the sitting-room, with evident 
relics of a past era in the household, and placed before 
him a small steaming steak and potatoes. Then, adding 
the coffee, he eased his fat bulk sociably into the chair 
opposite and shrugged aside Miles’ expression of gratitude. 

“But it is nothing, Weelliam — you are name Weelliam, 


A BROKEN MAN 


39 


is it not so? Me, I am Pierre. I know how it is when one 
come to service in a strange house and does not know what 
is before him; he needs ze good food to give him courage. ” 
He spoke with cordial good humor but his small eyes nar- 
rowed between their creases of fat and he added in a lowered 
tone: “ Ze last young man who depart zis morning, he 
has nerves like ze cat, he jump at his own shadow; it is 
well that he go! But you have the sense like Pierre; when 
ze pay is good and ze work it is like ze play only, you will 
attend to your own affairs and bother not ze head about 
other things.’ ’ 

He chuckled but his inflection made the remark seem 
almost a question and as Miles laughed with assumed care- 
lessness he replied: 

“Oh, I let the other fellow worry about what don’t 
concern me, Pierre! I’ve worked in the country before and 
I guess there isn’t much around here to scare anybody! 
What was the matter with the last guy who had my place?” 

“There are often ze strange things which one may not 
understand, Weelliam, about ze habits, ze little pleasan- 
tries of gentlemen of ze house. Is it that we should disturb 
ourselves? Edouard, ze young man who has depart, he 
does not comprehend ze jokes practique of ze gentlemen 
here and they get what you call his goat.” 

Pierre’s voice had sunk to a mere monotone and he 
glanced furtively at the door as he made a great clatter of 
gathering up the dishes but Miles affected surprise. 

“ ‘Practical jokes?’ But I thought the gentlemen in 
this family were all past that age?” 

“There is no age, Weelliam, for ze eccentricity. Mon 
Dieu, if you know what I have seen among ze nobility when 
France was gay! I do but tell you that you may not make 


40 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


one big fool of yourself like that Edouard. It is better 
to see nothing, to ask no questions but to please Made- 
moiselle Drake. You will forget that I have spoken ?” 

“I surely will, Pierre, but thank you.” Miles produced 
two gorgeously banded Havanas as he rose and tendered 
one of them. “That dinner was mighty good and if I can 
do any little thing for you sometime, just mention it.” 

Cutting short the other’s profuse thanks he wandered 
out through the entry and across the driveway to the terrace 
beyond, where he pocketed the remaining cigar and lighted 
a cigarette instead. Pacing reflectively back and forth 
he came upon a low stone coping hidden from the house 
by a mass of shrubbery and perched himself there to 
cogitate. 

Two separate and distinct warnings from the only ser- 
vants of the establishment whom he had as yet encountered. 
That Carter had been actuated by his interest in the family 
to which he had given a lifetime of service the detective 
could not doubt, but what was the chef’s motive? Had he 
hoped to curry favor with the new houseman by his con- 
fidence, in the event that the latter might in turn be useful 
to him in some way? For all his apparent good nature, 
his small, shrewd, close-set eyes bespoke greed and avarice, 
and he had gone out of his way to prepare a freshly cooked 
dinner for a new servant whose position was subordinate 
to his own in the household. What could be back of his 
unctuous attention, his flattering display of frankness? 

The hour was growing late and it was probable that he 
would have no opportunity that night to encounter the 
three brothers because of whom he had embarked on this 
bizarre investigation. Miles tossed his cigarette away and 
rose just as the shambling figure which he had seen before 


A BROKEN MAN 


41 


came sauntering around the bushes and then recoiled. 

“Lordy, lordy! Who is you? What you doin’ here?” 
The negro’s teeth were chattering in his head and the 
whites of his eyes glistened in the moonlight. 

“Who are you?” Miles countered amiably. “I’m William 
Brown the new houseman; I’ve just been hired today.” 

“Dat’s de truf? Sho am glad! I’m ’Ripides Lunt, Rip 
for short, night watchman till midnight an’ most eve’y- 
thing else outdoors in de daytime.” Euripides heaved a 
heartfelt sigh of relief. “Didn’t no gardener man come, 
too?” 

“No, he’ll be here in a few days.” Miles drew from his 
coat pocket a plug of strong tobacco with which he had 
come prepared and offered it. “Must be lonesome work 
patrolling these grounds at night.” 

“Lonesome? Man, dat ain’t de word! A screech-owl in 
a graveyard at de dark of de moon is havin’ a more sociable 
time dan what I is! — I thank you kindly.” He dropped the 
stout stick he had been carrying, broke a generous piece 
off the wedge of tobacco and passed the remainder back. 
“De night an’ de quiet is just like you could feel it an’ I 
gets so my neck’s growin’ ’round backwards to see what’s 
behime me! Mis’ Jerusha’s a mighty fine lady an’ de eats 
an’ pay is handsome, but I’ll sho be glad when dat gardener 
come!” 

“Why, what’s the matter?” Miles laughed. “There can’t 
be any danger of tramps or burglars so near the village and 
with other houses on every side.” 

’Ripides chewed ruminatively for a moment and then 
remarked: 

“There’s more dan tramps an’ thieves can come sashayin’ 
’round, an’ I ain’t puttin’ no special faith in de new preacher 


42 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


down at de Af’ican M. E. Church, countin’ he sells life 
insurance on de side. Some mighty funny things goin’ on 
in dis here neighborhood lately an’ when de next comes off 
it’s goin’ to be where Rip Lunt ain't ! — I got to be movin’! 
Bids you goodevenin’; you sho is got a easy job!” 

He picked up his heavy stick and slunk away with the 
caution of a prowling animal, and Miles shrugged. The 
third warning, and albeit this had been delivered uncon- 
sciously, from a spirit dominated by superstitious fears, its 
portent was as unmistakable as the others had been. Rip 
Lunt must have witnessed the return of Hobart Drake from 
his nocturnal speechmaking before the statue, and have 
also heard rumors, at least, of Roger’s strange lecture and 
Andrew’s idiotic exhibition that morning. What conclusion 
could he have formed in his own mind as to the incompre- 
hensible behavior of his employers? What opinion, indeed, 
was held by the rest of the servants? Until they took him 
more fully into their confidence the new houseman could 
not very well ascertain and he felt that they would not do so 
unless some further event occurred to loosen their tongues. 

Scottie would be out tomorrow and in his own inimitable 
way he would soon learn what the village and country club 
thought of the first two escapades; two only, unless the 
departing Edward had that morning prattled of the scene 
in the drawing-room which had so unnerved him. 

Yet Miles felt a growing intuition, amounting almost to 
conviction, that the key to the problem lay in that house 
behind him, held in the unsuspected if possibly maniacal 
hands of one of its inmates. He turned and regarded it 
thoughtfully. The room directly beneath his own was 
dark now, but the lower floor was still softly lighted, and, 


A BROKEN MAN 


43 


as he looked, a brighter shaft streamed out from around 
the jutting corner of the veranda. 

Keeping carefully off the graveled driveway, Miles went 
to the front of the house and paused in the shadow of one 
of the great white Colonial pillars. The entrance door was 
open and standing full in the glare from within were two 
men. Both were tall, slender and white-haired or very 
blond, for the light glowed upon their heads with a silvery 
lustre, but there from the detective’s point of vantage the 
resemblance ceased. One, who held a soft hat in his hand, 
was straight and distinguished of bearing, with a virile 
strength in his whole attitude which belied his apparent 
age, while the other who stood just within the door was 
stoop-shouldered and seemed oddly shrunken, as though 
weighed down with a burden greater than his frail physique 
could support. 

“Don’t let it prey upon your mind, Roger, old man, and 
above all don’t stay brooding in the house.” The first man 
was speaking in tones of sympathetic remonstrance. “I 
know it is useless to try to persuade you to go to the club 
and play a round of golf, for every curious glance from these 
neighbors of ours would be torture to you, but you can get 
out and potter about in the garden and greenhouse when 
this new gardener comes. You think I am a fanatic on the 
subject, but there is nothing so healing to a sensitive, mis- 
understood spirit as to get back to nature ” 

“Oh, I know, Enslee, I know!” The other’s tone was 
infinitely weary and he held out a trembling hand in pro- 
test. “I try not to think, I feel that I am going actually 
mad !” 

He checked himself and the visitor retorted soothingly: 

“Of course you do! sheer nerves, old man; take my 


44 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


advice and try gardening, come in healthily tired and you’ll 
sleep like a top, forgetting all about the narrow-minded 
criticism of a circumscribed neighborhood. I’ll come over 
myself when your man arrives; I have a new method of 
forcing early spring wistaria that I am sure will interest 
you in spite of yourself. Of course, Roger, if you’d rather 
be alone ?” 

“For God’s sake, no!” The cry seemed wrung from the 
other. “Even you can’t quite understand, but you are 

the only congenial spirit ! If you can endure my 

moods !” 

“My dear fellow! Send for me if you need me and in 
the meantime when you feel like strolling through that little 
wicket gate in the hedge you’ll find it as always on the 
latch.” 

Their hands clasped and the visitor turned and went 
down the path with a firm, steady step while Roger Drake 
slowly closed the door. 

Sergeant Miles waited for a moment and then made his 
way thoughtfully toward the rear. Wells, the attorney, 
had said that Roger was about forty-eight, but the broken 
man in the doorway had appeared nearer sixty. Had the 
fiasco of the lecture and its humiliating consequences so 
aged him in five short days, or was there something else 
that had preyed upon his mind for a far longer period, 
corroding heart and spirit and vitality alike and finding 
its culmination in that Samson-like demolition of the temple 
of his career which he had built up by a lifetime of research? 
Would his case prove to be the most significant of the three? 


CHAPTER IV 


THROUGH THE WINDOW 

W ITHOUT encountering the reluctant nightwatch- 
man again Miles entered the house and made his 
way up the back stairs to his own room. From 
next door a rhythmic series of snores indicated that Pierre 
was already deep in slumber, but a faint light glowed 
through the transom across the hall and Carter’s slippered 
feet could plainly be heard treading the matting-covered 
floor. Was he waiting until those below retired that he 
might lock up for the night or did some unquiet spirit 
possess the old butler which would not let him rest? 

In the stillness which brooded over the house there 
seemed to be an element of suspense, of waiting for some 
unknown and hideous thing, which conveyed itself even 
to the practical mind of the experienced man from Head- 
quarters, and it was with a conscious effort that he threw 
it off and started to unpack his belongings. He had scarcely 
finished when he heard Carter leave his room and descend 
the stairs, to return after an interval and lock his door 
behind him. 

When Miles had completed his own preparations for the 
45 


46 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


night he extinguished his light and lifting the shade as 
before he opened the window wide. All was dark on that 
side of the house now save in the room just beneath his 
own where again the two windows showed subdued squares 
of light which mirrored themselves in elongated fashion 
upon the lawn below. Across them the shadow of a dis- 
torted, attenuated figure moved back and forth. Someone 
was pacing the floor of that room below with a measured 
tread which told of deep concentration. As the detec- 
tive watched, fascinated, the unknown paused and raised 
two rigid arms over his head in an attitude of impotent 
desperation. 

Could it be Roger Drake? That it must be one of the 
three brothers was a foregone conclusion, and when he 
could learn in the morning which of them occupied that 
room his question would be answered. Was another 
manifestation about to be vouchsafed of the strange 
delusions apparently rampant among the male members 
of the family? 

Drawing on a dark bathrobe and slippers Miles opened 
his door noiselessly and crept down one flight of stairs, 
making for the door which he calculated as being directly 
under his own. He had gone but a few steps, however, 
when one across the hall opened with a jerk and a short, 
stocky, almost burly figure with touseled brown hair and 
a heavy, sun-browned countenance emerged clad in a 
nondescript robe and crossing to the other door turned the 
handle softly. 

Miles dodged hurriedly behind a jutting angle of the 
wall but was close enough to hear the subdued yet urgent 
tones of the newcomer. 


THROUGH THE WINDOW 47 

“ Roger, let me in! Let me in, I say! I want to speak 
to you!” 

The wearied tones which the detective had last heard 
on the veranda replied in an indistinct murmur and the 
stocky, brown-haired man retorted: 

“Right-o! I’ll go and wake up Hobart, then, and we’ll 
have it out!” 

There came a smothered exclamation from within, a 
quick, unsteady stride and the door was flung open. 

“What is it, Andrew? Am I never to have any peace?” 

The door closed again behind the two. Waiting only 
to be sure that none of the rest of the household had 
been aroused, Miles crept to it and laid his ear close to 
the panel. 

“It’s just this, Roger; you’ll go to pieces if you’re not 
careful, and over nothing, too.” The hearty, slightly 
aggressive tones of Andrew Drake were louder now, but 
roughly affectionate. “You’re in a blue funk and you gave 
yourself dead away tonight to that bug-hunting, weed- 
gathering nut, Grayle. Oh, I’m not saying anything 
against him, he seems to be your best friend around here, 
but even he’ll begin to think and talk like the rest of the 
town if you don’t help to pass the whole thing off as a joke.” 

“ ‘Joke!’ ” repeated Roger in trembling tones. “Is there 
any joke in what has descended upon us?” 

“Look here!” Andrew spoke with the patient, incisive 
emphasis of one imparting a lesson. “Hobart had a drop 
too much aboard when he went out and made that Julius 
Caesar speech, and your lecture was an ill-advised bit of 
pleasantry, while I was only playing a trick this morning to’ 
scare that fool Edward. Got that straight?” 

A moan was Roger’s only answer and Andrew growled: 


48 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“What’s your idea, then? Do you want the whole town 
to think that we are — afflicted?” There had been a pal- 
pable pause before the last word. 

“Aren’t we?” Roger’s voice was vibrant with sudden 
tragedy. “Haven’t we been for years, even though we 
three have managed until now to conceal it from all the 
rest of the world? What is the end going to be, have you 
thought of that? You can wait for it to come, Andrew, 
you’re made of more rugged stuff than I, but I can see the 
writing on the wall and I tell you I am not going to endure 
it until utter madness comes! There is a quick way out, 
quick and sure !” 

“You’re talking like an ass and worse — a coward!” 
Andrew interrupted with sudden, subdued fury. “Jerry’s 
all right, but you’ve forgotten Hobart’s girl! We may be 
able to weather this storm and be none the worse for it, 
but could she live down the fact that her uncle was a 
suicide?” 

“You know what chance we have of averting what is 
coming!” Roger laughed in a strained falsetto which made 
the listening detective shudder in spite of himself, and there 
was a quick movement within the room. “Pat had better 
live with the knowledge that one or both of her uncles — 
and her father as well — had died by their own hands than 
that all three of them were !” 

“Here! None of that!” Andrew cried. He had evidently 
thrown all caution to the winds for his tones had risen to a 
bellow and a door opened down the hall. Miles retreated 
hastily toward his screening corner of the wall near the 
back stairs but not before the sound of a sharp struggle 
came from the room where the brothers were, followed by an 
oath and the tinkle and crash of shattered glass. 


THROUGH THE WINDOW 


49 


An excited cry from little Miss Patricia mingling with 
her aunt’s contralto tones and a deeper masculine voice 
which the detective had not heard before all rose in a trio 
from the front part of the house at the same moment that 
feet pattered on the floor of the servants’ quarters overhead 
and he realized that he was fairly caught. If the ubiquitous 
Carter came down the back stairs and found him there he 
would be lost! 

Desperately he tore open the first door at hand and dived 
within, only to strike his head sharply against the edge of 
a shelf in the darkness, and discover to his relief that the 
chamber he had invaded was a sort of linen closet, where 
he would for the time being at least be safe from exposure. 

Carter scrambled down the stairs, passing his hiding- 
place at an unsteady trot, and it was evident from the chorus 
of voices which arose that the household had gathered 
anxiously at Roger’s door, while Andrew’s bluff, hearty 
tones dominated all the rest in an effort to allay their 
fears. 

“What is the matter with all you people, anyway? Pat, 
go back to bed, child! — Jerry, I thought that you at least 
had better sense! No, it’s nothing at all I tell you, Hobart! 
I thought Roger’s window was open and accidentally put 
my elbow through it. I was leaning against the casing 
talking to him; like this, see? That’s all there was to it.” 

“But Roger looks !” Miss Drake’s voice faltered 

throatily. “He looks !” 

“Of course he does! It startled him,” Andrew inter- 
rupted her unceremoniously. “You’re all in a state of 
nerves over my silly practical joke this morning: I ought 
to have remembered that the family never did have a 
properly balanced sense of humor! Carter, as long as you 


50 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


are here, you might go downstairs and get us all a hot drink 
with a bit of a stick in it, if there’s anything left in the 
sideboard.” 

Carter pattered obediently past the linen closet once more 
on his way to the lower floor and Miles reconnoitered 
cautiously. Miss Drake and her niece were retreating to 
their rooms at the front of the house, and a portly man, 
gray at the temples but solidly dignified even in his padded 
dressing-gown, was disappearing into Roger’s room. 

Seizing his opportunity the detective slipped from his 
hiding-place and sped up the back stairs to his own door, 
which he locked carefully behind him. Then, fumbling 
for his electric torch, he pressed on the light for an instant 
to glance at his watch. 

It was twenty minutes to twelve. For twenty minutes 
more, if Euripides Lunt was faithful to his trust he would 
be patrolling the grounds, and a search for the object which 
had been thrown through the window might mean another 
and this time unexplainable meeting with him. Miles had 
a very clear idea as to what that object was but he wanted 
to make assurance doubly sure, and if he waited he would 
hazard an encounter with another bent upon the same 
errand as himself when the drinks ordered had been con- 
sumed. That other would have a vast advantage, too, 
for he could make use of a torch or lantern while the 
detective would be compelled to feel about with only the 
paling moon to guide him. He would infinitely have 
preferred to listen to the conversation of the three brothers 
in that room below but the risk of discovery, which would 
put a summary end to his investigation, was too great. 

Divesting himself of his bathrobe he donned dark 
trousers and a sweater and sneakers, and then crept silently 


THROUGH THE WINDOW 


51 


down the stairs to the ground floor. A dim light glimmered 
from the pantry where he heard Carter moving about, 
mumbling to himself in an agitated monotone, so he turned 
quickly to the unknown front of the house. If the windows 
and doors were protected by some central burglar alarm 
system he realized that he would have small chance of 
getting out undetected , but he made the rounds with dogged 
determination, hoping to find some means of egress which 
had been neglected . 

From dining-room to drawing-room, through music 
and billiard rooms to library and den he made his way, 
avoiding the unfamiliar groupings of furniture as by some 
fortuitous sixth sense, his soft, rubber-soled shoes making 
no sound upon the rugs and polished floor. As he reached 
each long French window in turn and his finger-tips, as 
delicate and sensitive as those of a yegg, felt the bolts and 
catches, he found them securely fastened. 

Not daring to open them for fear of the tell-tale alarm, 
Miles was returning to the rear once more when in the 
library he paused with every sense alert. One of the tall 
windows opening on the front veranda, which most as- 
suredly had been closed and fastened when he examined it 
on passing through the room only a few minutes before 
stood wide now, its twin panels of glass, like narrow sides 
of a double door, swaying slightly in the chill night breeze. 

Miles took a quick, noiseless step or two toward it when 
all at once a shadow framed itself against the white pillars of 
the porch and the starry sky beyond and two hands clutched 
the panels of glass, drawing them closely together. Then 
the shadow disappeared. 

The detective drew a deep breath. Who had left the 
house at this time of night? Could it be Andrew Drake, 


52 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


already bent upon his search for the weapon of self-destruc- 
tion which he had wrested from his brother and flung 
through the window? But the library was on the opposite 
side of the house from that on which Roger Drake’s room 
looked out, and the figure, indistinct as it was, had seemed 
taller than that of the stockily-built rancher. Then, too, 
it had been swathed in some long garment, like that of a 
woman ! 

What if Miss Drake herself had become suddenly a victim 
to the strange obsession which had taken hold upon her 
brothers and was off now upon some incomprehensible 
adventure which would only bring further ridicule and 
notoriety to the family? 

At the thought Miles sprang forward; darting out the 
window he concealed himself in the shadow of one of the 
great pillars. No one was in sight, however. The lawn 
and the loop of the driveway were deserted, as was the State 
road, visible over the low hedge for some distance in both 
directions. Leaping from the porch he kept close to the 
wall and ran around the rear of the house to the other side. 
The pantry was dark now, but the two faint patches of light 
from Roger’s room still fell slantingly upon the sparse, 
browned grass of last year’s lawn, and in the glow of the 
farther one, just beneath the bare branches of a syringa 
bush, something glistened like a handful of diamonds. 

Glancing upward on guard against a possible observer, 
Miles crept behind the bush, and well in its shadow he 
reached around and caught up a fragment of the glittering 
stuff, which bit sharply into the flesh of his palm. 

Broken glass! He had anticipated a pistol or perhaps 
even a knife of some sort but not a bottle! It had been a 
small one, evidently, from the curve of the fragment which 


THROUGH THE WINDOW 


53 


he held, and in the faint light it appeared to be brown, of 
the sort which chemists use. 

So Roger Drake had meant to poison himself! But how 
was it that he had the deadly stuff handy and what was its 
nature? The bit of broken glass appeared to be quite drv 
and gave forth no odor. 

Throwing himself flat upon his face the detective writhed 
inch by inch along the ground still in the shadow of the 
gaunt bush until he was close to the scattered fragments of 
the bottle, and then he saw among them a number of tiny 
white tablets lying half-buried in the gravel of the driveway 
where they had rolled. Seizing a handful of the gravel 
and tablets together Miles stuffed it into a pocket of his 
trousers, and then crawling back safely into shadow he rose 
and ran swiftly around the house again to the library 
window. 

But it was closed! Could the breeze have blown the two 
sides together? Gaining the porch at a bound he pressed 
upon the two glass panels, but they refused to give; and 
slowly, incredulously, he felt up and down every inch of 
their jointure and even along the sill, or lintel, at the bottom. 

At length the truth was borne in upon him and he smiled 
grimly to himself. Knowingly or unknowingly, someone 
had locked him out! He, the star among the younger oper- 
atives of the detective bureau at Headquarters, was standing 
like a fool before a closed house in a hick town, to which he 
had been sent to investigate the oddest case on record! 


CHAPTER V 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


B UT as Sergeant Miles stood garbed like a veritable 
housebreaker — albeit without the weapons and tools 
of that enterprising profession — before the bolted 
French window of the house in which ostensibly as a ser- 
vant he temporarily belonged, he had no intention of 
remaining on the outside looking in. The possible burglar 
alarm might again have been set for action and in any 
event the catch of the window was one which could not 
be forced from without, but almost instantly a phrase which 
he had overheard earlier in the evening returned to his 
mind and a daring plan evolved itself. 

It meant tedious delay, for he must wait until Andrew 
had come down to look for the bottle of tablets which he had 
thrown from Roger’s window — until that moment of dark- 
ness, in fact, which precedes the dawn — but he philosophi- 
cally accepted the consequence of his own negligence. 
Strolling around once more to the terrace where he had 
smoked his after-dinner cigarette, he dropped over the 
coping to the lower level and stretched himself out flat 
against the concrete wall . 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


55 


After what seemed like an interminable period a church 
clock somewhere in the distant village boomed one resound- 
ing note. Almost immediately he heard the kitchen door 
open softly. With infinite caution he raised himself until 
his eyes were on a level with the top of the coping and 
beheld a bulky figure in a long, rough ulster beneath which 
flapping striped pajama-legs showed in the glow of a swing- 
ing lantern. 

The patches of light cast from the windows of Roger 
Drake’s room had vanished, but the man made straight for 
the driveway and strip of lawn in the neighborhood of the 
syringa bush, and in a few minutes Miles heard his grunt of 
satisfaction as he discovered the fragments of the broken 
bottle and then the clink of glass as he picked them up. 
Then there came a pause while he knelt in the gravel and 
the lantern circled about, evidently in a search for the 
tablets. 

He must have found enough of them to content his mind 
or else he became impatient, for after a brief interval he rose 
and returned to the house by the way he had emerged. 

If the detective had anticipated that Andrew — it was 
undoubtedly he — might leave the back door unfastened, 
however, that hope was promptly dispelled . In the stillness 
Miles distinctly heard the key turned and the bolts shot 
home, so he dropped back once more to resume his vigil. 
During that brief period, though, when the lantern had 
shone about the driveway and lighted up the wall of the 
house, Miles had seen that the stout vine which encircled his 
own window, directly above Roger Drake’s room, ran down 
between those of the latter and of two on the ground floor 
as well and was firmly embedded in the earth beside the 
foundation. It was that upon which he had counted — 


56 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


that and the chance phrase which the neighbor called 
‘Enslee’ had uttered as he took his leave of Roger after his 
evening call, about having found a new way to force early 
wistaria. 

Of course the vine to which the enthusiastic amateur 
gardener had referred might have been some other situated 
anywhere else about the place, but if it happened to be that 
particular one Miles knew that there was no tougher, more 
tenacious growth nor one which would provide easier foot- 
holds. There was the risk, to be sure, that his weight 
might tear the upper reaches loose from the wall or a false 
step send him sprawling upon the driveway below, but he 
had no alternative than to attempt the climb. 

The village clock struck two and then three, however, 
before he rose. He was stiff and chilled to the bone, for 
the frost was not yet wholly out of the ground upon which 
he had been lying for so long, and in the shelter of the 
house wall he exercised briskly for a moment or two before 
attacking the base of the vine. Its gnarled and angular 
joints strengthened his opinion as to its species, and it held 
firm and solid as he swung himself up, feeling for hand- 
and foot-hold and thankful that the leaves had not yet been 
put forth to rustle at his passing. 

He mounted above the ground floor and rested for a mo- 
ment with a foot on the ledge of one of Roger Drake’s win- 
dows. It was closed fast and utter silence seemed to reign 
within. Could it be that the man who so short a time 
before had attempted suicide was sleeping peacefully, or — 
and in sheer surprise at the thought which had come to 
him Miles grasped the vine more tightly — had that gesture 
been a bluff to impress his brother for some ulterior pur- 
pose not yet clear? Could it be that those tablets were 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


57 


harmless, after all? There had been no label on the frag- 
ments of the bottle when the detective turned them over 
in the moonlight. 

But the vine began to sway and like a cat Miles climbed 
on swiftly up to his own opened window and swung himself 
in over the sill. He dared not switch on the light, but a 
noiseless round of the room assured him that nothing had 
been disturbed in his absence, and after hasty preparations 
he tumbled into bed. 

He had meant to review and mentally catalogue the 
impressions which had crowded upon him since his arrival, 
but one fact seemed to dwarf the others to insignificance; 
two at least of the brothers knew or fancied that they had 
been partially demented for years but had kept it from all 
the world, and yet the old butler suspected it as well as 
the chef. That was the only possible construction he could 
place upon the conversation he had overheard as well as 
the two vague but unmistakable warnings from the ser- 
vants. 

Then, too, there was the question of the identity of 
the person who had left the house by way of the library 
window and vanished so quickly from view, only to return 
and fasten the window once more after such a short space 
of time. It could not have been Andrew, for when he came 
out to gather up the pieces of the shattered bottle the 
outline of his stocky figure in the lantern light had been 
totally unlike that of the shadow seen for an instant against 
the white pillars of the porch. 

With the latter problem in mind Miles fell asleep and 
awakened only when the alarm clock which he had brought 
with him shrilled upon the bureau. After dressing, he care- 
fully emptied the handful of gravel and little white tab- 


58 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


lets from the pocket of the trousers he had worn on the 
previous night. The gravel he tossed out of the window, 
but he placed the tablets — they were five in number — in 
an envelope in his inside coat pocket. 

As he left his room Carter’s voice called to him weakly 
from across the hall and opening the door he found the 
elderly butler groaning in bed. 

“It’s the sciatica, William!” the latter explained dole- 
fully. “I’ve felt it coming on again for days but I fit it 
off because I thought the family needed me special. You’ve 
been second man in one place, you said?” 

“Yes. I guess I can do anything you tell me to do,” 
Miles responded, keeping carefully in character. “Does 
your back hurt you bad? Do you want a doctor?” 

“It pains something awful but I don’t need a doctor,” 
Carter groaned again. “If you’ll just tell Hi tty — that’s 
Mehitabel Higgs, Miss Drake’s maid, — she’ll know what 
to do. It’s a good thing you can wait on table and attend 
to the gentlemen instead of me for a day or two. The folks 
don’t have breakfast until half past eight and Rip brings 
up the first mail before then and leaves it on the hall 
table; be sure you sort it and put it at everybody’s place 
before they set down. You don’t know their ways and it’s 
the Lord’s visitation that I should be laid up right now, 
but I guess you can make out if you remember what I told 
you last night. Just you do what you’re called on to do, 
and don’t pay attention to anything that don’t concern 
you.” 

“That’s all right; I told you I’d worked for some queer, 
notional people in my time and learned how to mind my 
own business,” Miles retorted. “Where’ll I find this Hitty?” 

“She’ll be at breakfast now, like as not. O-oh, my 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


59 


back! I’ll be thankful to you, William, if you can spare 
the time to bring me up a cup of coffee and a bite when 
you’re through.” 

Miles promised and withdrew, but as he descended the 
back stairs to the servants’ dining-room a question arose 
in his mind. Was Carter shamming, and if so what was his 
motive? 

He found the scrawny, lugubrious female of whom he 
had caught a glimpse on the previous evening already half- 
way through her meal, and she bade him “good morning” 
in a nasal, habitually pessimistic tone, receiving his news 
of the butler’s illness with no evidence of surprise. 

“It’s always the way,” she remarked. “Just about once 
in so often he takes to his bed and there ain’t a mite of use 
in arguing with him. When you’re ready to get to work 
you’ll find me up in the sewing- room and I’ll show you 
where you can find the vacuum cleaner and the brushes and 
dusters. — And don’t make more noise than you can help 
till ’long about eight.” 

Pierre was as cheerfully voluble as on the night before, 
although even after the disappearance of the dismal Hitty 
he made no further reference to the eccentricities of their 
mutual employers but supplied the new houseman’s wants 
lavishly and then replenished his own plate. When they 
had finished he brought a loaded tray to the other’s side. 

“Ze good Carter, I know heem!” he announced with a 
chuckle. “Ze seekness, it might be of ze death, but still 
he could eat!” 

Carter, despite a doleful groan before every mouthful, 
did indeed manage to consume a prodigious breakfast, and 
when he had removed the tray Miles went in search of Hitty 
and the implements of his new profession. He found her 


60 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


busily making poultices for the invalid, but she paused long 
enough to supply him with what he needed and directed 
him to start with the stairs and work down to the hall and 
lower rooms. 

Unaccustomed to his task and desirous of making a good 
impression in his assumed r61e, the detective worked 
steadily with only casual glances about him as he made 
his way from the lower hall to room after room of those 
through which he had felt his way in the darkness during 
the previous night. He did pause long enough to examine 
the library window which had figured so mysteriously in 
his nocturnal adventure, but he could discern nothing 
about it which differed from the others and no trace of 
fingermarks upon the glass, not even his own. 

It was only when, under the kindly guidance of Pierre 
from the pantry, he had finished arranging the table for the 
family breakfast that Miles remembered the mail. When 
he had cleaned the lower hall a short time before it had not 
arrived, but now a small heap of letters and rolled circulars 
and periodicals lay upon the table and he sorted them 
rapidly. There was nothing for Andrew Drake or Miss 
Patricia, but a formidable pile of correspondence awaited 
Roger, and several letters were addressed to Miss Jerusha, 
mostly in feminine chirography, while there was only one 
envelope to place beside Hobart Drake’s plate. 

Miles noted idly that it was plain, with a typed address 
and New York City postmark. Then he hurried out and 
returned with the fruit just as the elder Miss Drake 
entered. 

“Good morning, William.” She inclined her gray head 
formally. “I see you have made a good beginning. Me- 
hitabel tells me that Carter is ill and you have volunteered 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


61 


to assume his duties as well as your own. She will assist 
you in the housework while you take his place.” 

Her severe, impassive countenance was as bare of all 
emotion as that of an image and her white, veined hand did 
not tremble as it rested upon the chair-back. Could it 
indeed have been she who stole out in the night on some 
mysterious errand? 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Miles bowed respectfully. “I 
think I shall be able to manage by myself and I trust that I 
shall give satisfaction.” 

The three brothers entered almost together and took 
their places with a perfunctory greeting to their sister. 
Roger seemed drooping and shaken and his drawn, young- 
old face paled as his glance fell on the heap of correspondence 
beside his plate. He pushed it aside with a gesture of 
horror, and Andrew remarked: 

“More scientific criticism, I suppose? Throw it all in 
the fire, old man, and don’t bother your head about it!” 

“Andrew!” Miss Drake admonished with compressed 
lips, but her tone was abstracted . She had opened one after 
another of her letters and after a mere glance at their 
contents laid them beside her plate once more. It appeared 
to the furtively watching detective that she held her head a 
trifle higher after each perusal; and Andrew must have 
noticed something peculiar in her intonation, for he asked 
with seeming irrelevance: 

“How many guests will there be at the dinner on the 
eighth, Jerry?” 

If she hesitated it was only for the fraction of a minute 
and then her reply came with a cold deliberation which 
suggested a subtle warning. 


62 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“As Carter is ill and I do not care to have caterer’s men 
in the house I shall recall the invitations.” 

“You won’t have to recall many, will you?” Andrew 
gave a short, bitter laugh. “I thought so! Wretched 
snobs!” 

“William, you may remove the fruit — except Miss 
Patricia’s plate — and serve the cereal.” Miss Drake spoke 
in the same measured accents but it was as though she had 
laid a firm, slender finger across her irrepressible brother’s 
lips and he subsided, scowling. 

Patricia’s entrance created a break in the tenseness of 
the atmosphere. She eyed the detective in startled, con- 
fused recognition, but his expression was bland until he 
reached the shelter of the pantry, to which her gaze had 
followed him, when he risked a quick nod of warning and 
reassurance. A slight flush suffused her face and she 
turned to her father, only to exclaim in amazement and 
alarm: 

“Daddy! What is it?” 

“Hello, Hobart, has the bottom dropped out of the 
market?” Andrew demanded, and even Roger roused him- 
self from his apathy to ask in his gentle, weary tones: 

“Hobart, it isn’t serious trouble, is it?” 

Only Miss Drake was silent, but her eyes were fixed with 
burning intensity upon the empurpled countenance of her 
youngest brother as he brought his fist, clenching his soli- 
tary letter, down violently upon the table. 

‘“Trouble?”’ he repeated hoarsely. “Trouble enough! — 
The show-down, as far as I am concerned! It’s each man 
for himself when you stand with your back against the wall, 
and I’m going to fight!” 

“Really, you shouldn’t allow yourself to become so 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


63 


excited, Hobart!” Miss Drake spoke peremptorily. “I 
presume it is just another financial deal which is not going 
quite as you expected; but we have heard you talk as ex- 
travagantly before and yet everything turned out success- 
fully in the end Do have some coffee and try to compose 
yourself.” 

Slowly the angry color ebbed from Hobart’s face and the 
hand holding the letter relaxed. 

“Yes, give me some coffee — black!” he responded as 
though suddenly recalled to his immediate surroundings. 
“Did I speak extravagantly? Something has occurred to 
annoy me greatly ” 

“In that horrid Wall Street Daddy ^ Patricia 
broke in. 

“Of course, child! Where else?” He drained his cup 
and it clattered in the saucer as he put it down and rose. 
“You’ll all excuse me; I want to go over some accounts 
before I leave for town.” 

He strode from the room with the open letter still in 
his hand and they heard the library door close behind him 
and the key turn in the lock. Andrew opened his lips as if 
to speak but glanced at his sister and thought better of 
it. The meal progressed in a silence broken only now and 
then by desultory talk that failed of its evident object: 
to relieve the situation. 

It ended shortly and Miles was clearing away the dishes 
and silver when he observed that the envelope of the letter 
which had caused Hobart Drake such agitation was still 
lying where he had dropped it, on the floor beside his chair. 
He stooped hastily and pocketed it and then, finishing his 
work in the dining-room, he proceeded to the pantry, 
only to find Mehitabel before him. 


64 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“I’ll wash up,” she remarked. “I’ve already done Miss 
Drake’s room and Miss Patricia’s, like I always do, and 
all you’ve got now are the gentlemen’s rooms and the upper 
halls. If you should hear Carter makin’ any to-do, you 
could go in and tell him for me that that poultice ain’t a 
mite too hot, and if he takes it off the next one’s goin’ 
to be hotter!” 

“I will.” Miles grinned in friendly fashion. “I told 
Miss Drake I could do this work, though.” 

Hitty tossed her head till the knot of thin, sandy-gray 
hair waggled contemptuously. 

“I guess I know my place!” she retorted with an emphasis 
which was not lost upon the presumptuous young man, 
who beat a retreat to the hall. 

He had started for the back stairs when Miss Drake 
intercepted him, a frown of annoyance between her heavy, 
level brows. 

“William, do you know how to drive a car, by any 
chance; a Triplex?” she asked. 

Had the opportunity presented itself to send the promised 
wire to Scottie? The detective gave an inward start but 
replied evenly enough: 

“Yes, ma’am. The chauffeur taught me to drive at the 
last place I worked and it happened that their car was a 
Triplex.” 

“That is fortunate, William, for Mr. Hobart must be 
taken to the station almost at once and Euripides — our 
chauffeur and general handy man — cannot be found. Mr. 
Andrew has gone out somewhere and Mr. Roger is in- 
disposed or I would not take you from the work for which 
you were engaged; I believe in system.” She paused and 
then extended her hand. “Here are keys to the garage 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


65 


and car. The upper rooms and halls may remain as they 
are until you return, but please have the car at the door 
in fifteen minutes. It was in perfect running order yester- 
day, I believe.” 

“Very good, ma’am.” Miles took the keys and bowing 
again, turned to the back stairs once more, this time for 
his coat and a cap. He did not care particularly about what 
had happened to Rip Lunt, and even the groans which 
issued from Carter’s room, all the louder as his own foot- 
steps became audible, were unheeded. He was already 
mentally translating into code the message that must be 
sent to Scottie without delay; his colleague must get out 
to the country club that very afternoon if possible and in 
two or three days present himself at the Drake place in his 
r61e of gardener. Events had been piling up fast enough 
in the last twelve hours and the young detective could not 
conjecture what situation might develop; he felt the need 
of the keen judgment and wise counsel of the canny old 
man-hunter at the earliest possible moment. 

The garage was at the rear of the house and he found the 
car, as Miss Drake had said, in perfect condition. He 
brought it around to the door a few minutes before the 
appointed time to find Hobart waiting on the porch steps, 
watch in hand. 

“You remember the way to the station?” he asked 
abruptly. 

“Oh, yes, sir.” 

“Then get me there as quick as you can; must make 
the nine- twenty.” 

The door of the sedan slammed and Miles drove off , but 
he retraced the road by which he had come in the jitney 
on the preceding evening at a carefully calculated rate of 


66 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


speed. He did not intend to get Mr. Hobart Drake to his 
destination ahead of time, that the latter might see him 
loitering about for an opportunity to enter the telegraph 
office. 

The train was indeed just pulling in as he drew up at 
the station platform and his passenger tore open the door 
and dashed through the gates without a word to anyone, 
but Miles noted the significant glances and nudges of the 
loungers as they recognized him and realized anew the 
humiliation which his young client, Miss Patricia, must 
have endured before she put aside the family pride and 
asked for an investigation. 

His thoughts returned again to her, the innocent victim 
of the mysterious calamity which had overtaken her people, 
when, after he had safely despatched his wire to Scot tie, 
he was bowling slowly back to the house. It did not, 
therefore, come wholly as a surprise to him when he was 
hailed by a merry-eyed,- athletic-looking young man who 
stood by a low, red runabout at the side of the road. 

“Hello! You're from the Drake place, aren’t you? 
Saw you drive away from there a while ago. Going back 
there now?” 

“Yes, sir.” Miles pulled up inquiringly. 

“Want to make five dollars?” 

“That depends, sir.” 

The young man advanced to the Triplex and leaned 
confidentially over the wheel. 

“My name’s Dick — I mean Richard — Kemp. You’re a 
new man but you look like a decent sort of chap. I’ll give 
you five dollars if you’ll take a note to the young lady up 
there, Miss Patricia, and see that she gets it quietly. 
Do you understand?” 


THE SECOND ENVELOPE 


67 


In a quick flash of memory Miles recalled the deep blush 
which had mounted in the young girl’s face when during 
their first interview at John Wells’ office she mentioned the 
"Kemp place,” and a light broke over him. 

"I think I do, sir.” He smiled slightly. “I’ll be glad to 
do it. If there’s any answer where will I find you?” 

"You’re all right!” Mr. Richard Kemp clapped the 
pseudo-chauffeur democratically and enthusiastically upon 
the shoulder. "There won’t be any immediate answer but 
I’ll be at — at the. place she knows every evening at six, 
sharp. Here you are!” 

He produced an envelope and a five-dollar bill, both of 
which Miles accepted gravely. 

"Thank you, sir. I’ll deliver the note myself. Good- 
bye, sir.” 

He drove speedily back to the Drake estate and around 
to the garage to put up the car. Rip Lunt had not yet 
appeared but a vicious feline yowl greeted him, and as Miles 
descended from the car he beheld a hideous, battle-scarred 
tom-cat of obviously plebeian ancestry vainly clawing to 
reach a plate of stale meat on a high shelf. An inspiration 
came to him . 1 1 would be a low trick to play on the veteran , 
but a fact of more importance than its continued existence 
hung in the balance and he made a quick decision. Taking 
from his pocket the envelope containing the five tablets, 
he selected one of them and rolling it in a small piece of 
the meat he dropped it on the floor. With a growl the cat 
pounced upon it, tearing with teeth and claws, and in an 
instant it was gone. For a moment the animal crouched 
glaring expectantly up at him and then its eyes widened 
with a look of almost human surprise. It rose, turned in a 
wavering half-circle and then all at once relaxed rather 


68 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


than fell upon its side with all four feet outstretched and 
the lurid eyes filmed. 

So Roger had not been bluffing, after all! Miles satis- 
fied himself that the cat was dead and with a sigh replaced 
the envelope in his pocket, when his fingers came in contact 
with another. He thought that it must be the note which 
young Kemp had given him to deliver to Miss Patricia, but 
on drawing it forth he saw that it was the second envelope 
of his collection that morning; the one which her father 
had dropped on the dining-room floor. What could it 
have contained to drive him into such a tempest of fury? 

The detective was turning it over speculatively in his 
hands when suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation and 
carried it to the open door of the garage. No one else was 
within sight or hearing and as he examined his ^ouvenir 
closely Miles gave a low whistle of uncontrollable surprise. 
He needed no magnifying glass to verify the truth; the 
cancelled stamp had been transferred from another en- 
velope and the postmark was a forgery. That letter had 
never passed through the mails! 


CHAPTER VI 


QUERIES 


H E was still standing, momentarily dazed by the shock 
of his latest discovery, when Euripides Lunt lurched 
around the corner, rubbing his eyes and yawning 
prodigiously. He halted at sight of the detective and 
then grinned sheepishly. 

“Took another nap after I brung up de mail from de 
post office, an’ done gone an’ overslep’ myself,” he remarked. 
“Spec Mistah Hobart gwine be mighty upsot ’bout gettin’ 
to de station but I ain’t carin’. Dis job sho is losin’ its 
flavor fo’ me fast!” 

“I drove Mr. Hobart to the train,” Miles replied. “But 
what’s the matter with your job now, Rip? You told me 
last night that the food and the pay suited you.” 

“Suits me fine, but dis perambulatin’ ’round de house an’ 

’round de house at night !” He suddenly spied the 

victim of Miles’ late experiment upon the floor of the 
garage and a loud wail escaped him. “Whut happen to 
my cat? He’s daid!” 

“Looks like it,” commented the detective, adding men- 
69 


70 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


daciously: “He was lying like that when I drove in. 
Was he sick yesterday?” 

“ ‘Sick’? ” repeated Rip, mournfully, as he knelt beside 
the departed one. “Dis cat was in de fightin’est condition 
ever you see! Us been pahdners fo’ three years an’ won 
eve’y battle in de neighborhood not excludin’ de Kemp’s 
Angora, which de shofer put up fifty dollars even money 
on, an’ Mis’ Kemp offered a hundred after to find out who 
done kill it wid a rake! Dis place sho got a hoodoo on it!” 

Leaving the disconsolate Euripides to his grief Miles 
returned to the house, pocketing the envelope again as he 
went, and delivered the keys once more to Miss Drake, 
whom he found in the sewing-room with Hitty, busy 
sorting over some freshly ironed linen. 

“Do not disturb Mr. Roger now,” the former directed. 
“Just put Mr. Hobart’s room to rights, and Mr. Andrew’s 
— but you do not know which they are. My niece will 
show you.” 

Patricia had appeared in the doorway and volunteered 
demurely: 

“Certainly, Aunt Jerusha. Come, William.” 

She led him down the hall to a room furnished plainly 
but massively in old mahogany, and with a warning gesture 
closed the door. 

“Oh, have you found out anything yet, Sergeant Miles?” 

“Only ‘William’ here, please!” he cautioned swiftly. 
“There is nothing for me to report but I have a message 
for you.” 

He handed her the letter which Richard Kemp had en- 
trusted to him and watched the quick play of emotion across 
her vivacious young face. 


QUERIES 


71 


“ Wherever did you ? How did you know? Oh, 

Ser — William, I can’t thank you!” 

“The young man did!” Miles laughed. “He gave me 
this five-dollar bill, which I shall ask you to return to him 
some time for me when my work here is finished, and he 
asked me to tell you that he would be at the place you knew 
every evening at six, sharp. But we must not stop to talk 
now, Miss Patricia. Whose room is this?” 

“My father’s.” She thrust the letter hastily into the 
bosom of her frock. “You are awfully good, and I’ll explain 
some time. Come now and I will show you Uncle Andrew’s 
room.” 

For the rest of the morning Miles swept and cleaned 
industriously but his thoughts kept returning to the envelope 
with the forged postmark, and the desperate fury which its 
contents had aroused in Hobart Drake. How had it become 
mixed with the legitimate mail? Was Rip an accomplice of 
the sender of it? That he would be susceptible to a bribe 
the detective did not doubt but the fellow appeared too 
stupid and naive to carry out such a transaction without 
betraying his share in it afterward by his manner at least, 
and there had been nothing self-conscious in his attitude 
at the garage. 

Yet he had not been on hand to drive the recipient of 
the letter to the station as usual. Had he really gone to 
sleep again, or purposely kept out of the way to avoid 
awkward questioning? Miss Drake’s phrase was that he 
could not be found, but surely if he were missing he would 
have been looked for in his own sleeping-quarters. Where, 
then, had he taken that extra nap if his story were true? 

Miles resolved to question the apparently guileless Rip 
at the first opportunity, but meanwhile he racked his brains 


72 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


to try to recall whether he might not have subconsciously 
noted that solitary letter on the hall table when he swept 
there in the early morning. It would have had little or no 
significance for him at the time, however, and he had been 
too intent upon his assumed task to receive any definite 
impression of it. 

Perhaps it had been placed there the night before? If 
so, Carter might know, for he had been the last of the house- 
hold downstairs when he went to turn out the lights and 
lock up. The last, except the one who had gone through the 
library window on that mysterious midnight errand! Could 
that unknown person have gone to receive the letter from a 
confederate waiting somewhere in the shadows and place it 
where the morning postbag would be emptied over it? 

When Miles had finished with the hallway on the second 
floor and the sleeping-apartments of the two brothers, he 
ascended to the servants’ quarters and on a sudden impulse 
approached Carter’s door. A vigorous groan replied to his 
knock and he turned the handle and entered. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked. 

“Worse!” croaked the butler. “I’m burned now as well, 
thanks to the pigheadedness of that Hi tty! — Is — is every- 
thing going all right?” 

He voiced the question so anxiously that Miles eyed him 
in swift speculation. What if Carter himself had placed the 
envelope on the table when he went to lock up the house on 
the previous evening? His loyalty to the family would 
appear to be unassailable and he had spent most of a life- 
time in its service, yet he might have some private, fancied 
grievance against Hobart alone and have sought to give 
expression to it in this manner. Because the letter had 
caused its recipient such agitation there was no reason for 


QUERIES 


73 


assuming that it bore in any way upon the evidences of 
aberration manifested by the three brothers during the 
past fortnight. 

“Why shouldn’t everything go all right?” the detective 
countered. “Of course I don’t know the ways of the family 
as yet but nothing is wrong, barring the fact that the gentle- 
man they call Mr. Roger didn’t feel very well after breakfast 
and he’s lying down. I guess I managed with your work 
good enough but I almost forgot about putting the mail on 
the breakfast table. Rip brings it up all together from the 
post-office, doesn’t he?” 

Carter nodded and raised himself painfully on his pillow. 

“What becomes of the outgoing mail?” Miles pursued. 
“I mean, any letters the folks may write at night. Do they 
put it on the hall table for him to take away in the morn- 
ing?” 

“No. There’s a little leather postbag hanging under 
the front stairs; Rip takes it every evening when he goes to 
the station to bring Mr. Hobart home.” The butler’s tone 
was perfectly natural but Miles was not yet satisfied. 

“I’m only asking you because it seems to me that I saw 
a letter on the hall table when I went down to clean in the 
early morning, before Rip put the rest of the mail there,” 
he remarked. 

“You couldn’t have, William, for Rip’s the first one to go 
down after the post office opens, so it didn’t come from 
anywhere. Everybody puts their outgoing mail in the 
bag, like I told you.” Carter paused and added as an 
after- thought: “You was the earliest downstairs this morn- 
ing and there wasn’t any letter there when I turned out 
the lights last night. I know, because Mr. Enslee Grayle 
had left a lot of bulbs and roots on the table, that he’d 


74 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


brought over for our garden, and there was dirt sticking to 
’em, so I took ’em away and threw the whole mess out. 
Isn’t it near time for lunch? I feel as though I could eat 
a little something.” 

His eyes met those of the detective with a candor that 
could not be questioned and Miles nodded and turned to 
the door once more. 

“Pretty soon, I guess; I’ll bring it up to you myself.” 

Cutting short the other’s thanks he crossed to his own 
room and after making up his cot and rearranging his few 
belongings he flung himself into a chair for a minute’s 
reflection. Carter was definitely out of it, so there remained 
only Rip and the person whose shadow he had seen at the 
library window. If he could but know the gist of that 
letter! That it was the work of some one in the neighbor- 
hood if not in the very household itself seemed fairly 
obvious, as well as the fact that it must have been written 
at the last moment and to achieve its purpose it was neces- 
sary for it to reach Hobart Drake in that early morning mail, 
else the sender could have taken it to New York City and 
posted it there without going to the trouble and risk 
of transferring the cancelled stamp. Of course, it might 
have been merely an insulting anonymous reference to the 
financier’s ridiculous oration before the soldiers’ monument 
a fortnight before, but his reception of it argued something 
more serious, and in view of the many other seemingly 
inexplainable events which had occurred Miles could not 
overlook its possible importance. Had Hobart Drake 
destroyed it, taken it to the city with him or concealed it 
somewhere in the library? The latter appeared to be the 
least probable deduction, but the detective determined to 


QUERIES 75 

search for it there if he had to remove and examine every 
book on the shelves. 

A dragging step in the hall and Hitty’s sharp knuckles 
rapping upon his door brought him with a start from his 
cogitations. 

“I set your lunch table for you,” she remarked with an 
injured air. “Do you want me to wait on it, too? Pierre 
says his chops will be burnt to a crisp and the family’s 
waiting.” 

Miles apologized and added: 

“By the way, I forgot to tell Miss Drake that Rip came 
into the garage as I was putting the car up after getting 
back from the station. He said that when he brought up 
the mail this morning he had taken a nap and overslept 
himself.” 

Hi tty sniffed. 

“He said what ain’t so, but that’s nothing new! Pierre 
went up to where he sleeps over the garage himself, looking 
for him and Rip wasn’t there. I keep a-telling Miss 
Drake that he’s sneaking and no-account but she never 
would listen to me !” 

Her complaints floated after him as he hurried off down 
the stairs to attend to his neglected duties, but after serving 
the luncheon — at which only Miss Drake, little Miss 
Patricia and Andrew appeared — and clearing it away, he 
had to eat his own meal and satisfy Carter’s appetite, so 
that it was a good hour and a half before he was free to 
seek out the “handy man.” 

He was nowhere to be found about the garden or garage 
and Miles started for a small patch of woods heavily over- 
grown with underbrush at the rear of the estate. It looked 
as wild and neglected as though no one had entered it for 


76 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


years and yet a faint trail like a narrow footpath wound 
toward it over the brown stubble and as the detective 
advanced he called: 

“Rip! — Oh, Rip!” 

At length there came a crashing of branches, the under- 
brush parted and Euripides appeared, breathing heavily. 

“Who call? Who dat want me? Oh, it’s de new house- 
man! Heah is!” 

“What are you doing in those woods?” For a moment 
Miles dropped his role and his tones rang with authority. 

Rip’s eyes shifted and he moistened his thick lips with 
his tongue as he hesitated. Then at last the answer came 
sullenly. 

“I — I was a-buryin’ my cat! Seems like nobody cain’t 
do nothin’ ’round heah that’s they own business!” 

“Why didn’t you bury it right out behind the garage or 
in the garden somewhere?” Miles demanded. 

“ ’Cause I didn’t want dat new gard’ner whut’s cornin’ 
to maybe dig him up an’ tell Mis’ Drake. She done give 
ordehs fo’ me to clo’foam dat cat time an’ time agin, on til I 
just nachully tole her he’d run off somewhars.” Rip’s 
accents had become suddenly ingratiating. “Didn’t have 
de heart to clo’foam de bestest fighteh in de neighborhood! 
— But whut does they want of me now?” 

“Where else did you go besides to the post office this 
morning?” The detective evaded a direct reply. 

“Nowhars!” the other retorted promptly. “Just sash- 
ayed right ’long ’bout my business an’ come on home.” 

“You didn’t stop and talk to anybody on the way there 
or back?” 

“Sho didn’t. Office wasn’t open yet when I got dere an’ 
I hung ’round passin’ de time of day wid a couple of cullud 


QUERIES 


77 


boys I knows; one wuks at de Mansion House an’ de other 
drives a coal-yard truck.” He paused. “How come? 
Who want to know?” 

“Well, — Rip,” Miles, too, adopted a confidential tone but 
he gazed keenly through narrowed eyes into the brunette 
face before him — “I won’t say anything about the cat if 
you’ll keep quiet about this, but somebody thought you 
brought a letter back here this morning that didn’t come in 
the mail.” 

To his surprise Rip broke into a guffaw and shuffled his 
feet as though amused beyond measure at a joke to be shared 
between them. 

“Nossir! Not me! Done got into enough trouble oveh 
de one yestiddy! Mis’ Drake caught me tryin’ to slip it to 
little Missie, an’ I mos’ got fired! Dunno why eve’y thing 
change so quick, ’cause only las’ week young Mistah Kemp 
was ez welcome ez a summer breeze an’ it sho look like 
weddin’ bells soon, but yestiddy he axes me oveh de hedge 
would I give a note to little Missie on de quiet. Mistah 
Kemp is a fine, open-handed young gen’leman an’ I said I 
would, but I didn’t heah Mis’ Drake a-comin’ an’ dat’s 
how de ruckus stahted. You tell little Missie dat I didn’t 
see hide nor ha’r of Mistah Kemp dis mornin’; I driv 
straight to de postoffice like I said, an’ when it open I 
onlock our mailbox wid de key, shove all de letters in de 
bag an’ come on home an’ putjem on de hall table. Didn’t 
stop so much ez to say ‘howdy’ to a hop- toad!” 

It was as obvious now that he was telling the truth as it, 
had been that he had lied about the reason for his presence 
in the woods and Miles dropped the subject. Promising to 
deliver Rip’s message he returned to the house, still pon- 
dering over the problem of the letter. Unless he could find 


78 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


it and learn its contents, only one course remained for him to 
pursue; besides watching for any further evidences of the 
‘affliction’ which two of these brothers had so openly ad- 
mitted to each other he must be on guard for the next noc- 
turnal adventure of that unknown member of the household 
and for the future appearance of a second letter with a 
forged postmark. 


CHAPTER VII 


MACDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 

M R. Edgerley Flint was one of the founders and 
most respected members of the country club at 
Brooklea, and the friends of years’ standing with 
whom he played bridge almost nightly and golf on Sundays 
would have met with incredulous amazement the suggestion 
that he might be under great and secret obligations to the 
magnanimity and discretion of the Police Department of 
New York in a certain distressing family matter. It was 
a fact, nevertheless. 

Therefore he was only too glad to acquiesce when the 
Chief requested him to present to that exclusive suburban 
coterie, as his own house guest, a distinguished Scotchman 
of noted lineage, particularly as Donald MacDonell of Glen 
Garry proved, in the short run out in the motor car, to be 
a delightfully genial personage with a fund of anecdote and 
a dry sense of humor that were irresistible. 

They reached Brooklea late on Tuesday afternoon, and 
an hour or two after Sergeant Miles’ unsatisfactory inter- 
view with the evasive Rip, his colleague was seated in the 
great, beamed hall of the country club with a small but 

79 


80 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


cordial group of middle-aged golf enthusiasts about him. 
He had been describing some celebrated matches he had 
supposedly witnessed at St. Andrews — the details of which 
he had gained from assiduous reading up on the night 
before — and meanwhile he was shrewdly studying the men 
about him. 

His host was a person of medium height with the keen, 
alert manner of the prosperous and aggressive business man 
always up on his toes to combat competition. He had 
exhibited no curiosity at the moment of the Chief’s intro- 
duction or later and had seemingly taken his guest at his 
face value, presenting him in turn to his friends with an 
easy friendliness that suggested a longstanding acquaint- 
anceship at least. His matter-of-fact acceptance of the 
situation bespoke a well-poised reserve, and Scot tie wondered 
what he was thinking, if he were waiting for the unknown 
who had been foisted upon his hospitality to show his hand 
by a leading question or change of subject. Surely Flint 
must know that a MacDonell of Glen Garry would not need 
to seek social introductions through the medium of the 
police!’ 

He had been presented first to Cyrus Greer and James 
Whalen. The former was little, shriveled, and elderly, 
with a high, cackling laugh and the sly, knowing leer of the 
typical club gossip, while the latter was a huge, red-faced, 
loud-voiced man of perhaps forty, who bore himself with 
the half-truculent, half-obsequious air of one who had 
forced his way by sledge-hammer methods into a fortune 
and social position which were alike so new that he was not 
yet sure of his ground. Obviously out of his class, he as 
obviously meant to maintain the place he had won at all 
costs, and the* delicate sneers of the elderly snob as well 


MacDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 81 


as the calculated patronage in Edgerley Flint’s bearing 
apparently failed of effect; yet Scottie noted a hardening of 
the square jaw and a tightened grip of the big, hairy hands 
on his chair-arms now and then, and decided that he would 
prove as worthy of cultivation as the garrulous Greer. 
Outspoken, a fighter and a good hater, his opinion of the 
exclusive Drake family, arrogant in their former poverty 
as in their present wealth, might be illuminating. 

The last man to join their group had been Martin Kemp, 
the club’s president. Thin-lipped and cold of eye, he 
greeted the new house guest with perfunctory courtesy and 
sank back in his chair in an indolent attitude which Scottie 
felt concealed an incisively critical study of himself. Only 
when the golf talk became spirited did his sharp-featured, 
slightly lined face light up with animation, and the retired 
detective exerted himself to the utmost to interest him, but 
with native caution forebore to mention any supposed per- 
sonal experiences on the links, knowing that he must exhibit 
his own mediocre ability on the morrow. 

In lighter vein he had just narrated a witty bit of fictitious 
repartee between two caddies on the Glen Garry links when 
a tall, slim, distinguished looking man, whose shock of 
white hair was in odd incongruity with the youthful bril- 
liancy of his keen, dark eyes, strolled into the club, nodded 
to the group by the window, and started for the locker 
rooms. 

“Enslee Grayle wouldn’t miss a daily round after the 
snow is off the ground if the heavens fell!” Greer cackled. 
“I believe it is the only thing in the world which interests 
him beside his bees and birds and garden.” 

“He is a plain nut if you ask me!” Whalen remarked in a 
challenging tone. “Any man who retires on a mere shoe- 


82 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


string when he has at least ten good years of business en- 
ergy left and is content to live in a little hut like the Rose 
Tree and dig in a garden and classify bugs ought to have 
his head examined! He’s a queer cuss; Roger Drake’s 
about the only man he has made a pal of in the neigh- 
borhood during the year since he settled here.” 

“Not Drake the archaeologist?” The rich burr in Donald 
MacDonell’s accents had deepened slightly. “Didn’t he 
stir up a trifle of a hornet’s nest in scientific circles lately? 
It’s away beyond my ken but I heard a wor-rd passed 
aboot it at the Travelers’ Club the other night.” 

“He did all of that, though it’s over my head, too,” 
Whalen responded. “He’s no more loony than a certain 
other relative of his, and to my way of thinking, there’s a 
queer streak that runs through the whole family, — all 
except Andrew. He’s the most human of the lot and good 
company when you get him off by himself. It’s the years 
he spent in Australia, you know, that must have taken that 
‘holier than thou’ kink out of his neck. Roger’s just a 
harmless cuss, but Hobart !” 

“All this will be as much Greek to the Laird, here, as 
the criticisms he heard of Roger Drake’s lecture,” Flint 
put in hastily. “Wasn’t here to attend it myself but I 
understand it was a masterly bit of satire. The Drakes 
are a very excellent old family, but eccentric. The brother 
you heard discussed is the most brilliant of the family.” 

He had turned to Scottie, who nodded politely as though 
the subject held little interest for him and asked diffi- 
dently: 

“Are they members here?” 

“Until the next directors’ meeting, I fancy!” Greer 


MacDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 83 


snickered. “Eccentricity may be a mark of genius but 
there is such a thing as carrying it too far!” 

“Aren't we a bit out of order, discussing absent mem- 
bers?” Kemp spoke coldly as he dropped the stub of his 
cigar into the ash-tray. “The Laird will think we are as 
gossipy as a sewing circle. — Going around tomorrow 
morning, sir? I am taking a few days' vacation from my 
office and perhaps we can make it a foursome.” 

He looked straight at Scottie and the latter nodded with 
well-assumed enthusiasm as he uttered a hearty acceptance, 
but he determined to guard himself warily. He had an al- 
most uncanny memory for faces and he could not recall 
ever having seen the tight-lipped Martin Kemp before, 
but an uncomfortable sensation pervaded him that the 
other suspected his former calling if not his actual identity. 
There had been a slight but cynically undue emphasis in 
his tone when he called him “the Laird,” and Scottie did 
not quite like the steady glitter in those pale, prominent 
eyes fixed so unwaveringly upon him. 

He settled back stodgily in his chair and deliberately 
kept the conversation once more on golf, until Kemp rose 
with an idly murmured excuse and left the group. As. he 
disappeared into the card room James Whalen exclaimed: 

“I'm a dumb-bell and you’re another, Greer! We ought 
to have remembered that his boy is head over heels in love 
with Hobart Drake’s girl!” 

“I didn’t forget!” Greer smirked, but his faded little 
eyes were still red with anger at the snub from the club 
president. “Did you see him squirm? I wonder what he’ll 
do about the affair now?” 

“He was right, though,” Edgerley Flint remarked. 
“We are out of order, but since we’re on the subject I don't 


84 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


believe he quite agrees with your theory, Jim, about there 
being a ‘queer’ streak in the family. He’s had too many 
tilts with Hobart Drake on the market not to have a healthy 
respect for his logic and astuteness.” 

“It is evident that you don’t agree with Jim either, 
Flint, but what other explanation is there? You do not 
believe, any more than the rest of us, that Hobart was — 
er — indulging that night?” Greer’s tones had dropped to 
an avid whisper. “My wife called on Mrs. Kemp yester- 
day afternoon and later dropped in for tea with Miss Drake, 
and I may tell you in confidence that there is considerable 
feeling between them.” 

“I hope the kids don’t let it interfere with them,” Whalen 
observed slowly. “Young Kemp has the makings of a man 
in him and from the little I’ve seen of her the girl don’t 
seem to be a bit of a snob in spite of her upbringing. I 
have more than one score to settle with that father of hers 
and if he has been a secret drinker all these years, — well, 
murder will out! I can’t say I’m sorry they’ve been taken 
down a peg or two by their own actions but it’s not the 
girl’s fault. — I told the old lady I’d be home early for 
dinner tonight. We have the Lancasters and the Bensons 
and some other people coming over from Great Neck to 
play bridge.” 

There was unconscious naivete in the pride with which 
he made the announcement as he rose, and after an elab- 
orately careless invitation to the supposed Laird to “drop 
in at the shack any time” he took his departure. 

Greer shrugged his shrunken, immaculately tailored 
shoulders as he gazed after him. 

“Impossible, utterly impossible!” he murmured. “I 
fancy you don’t meet such bounders in a country club on 


MacDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 85 


the other side, but Whalen bought his way in by a lot of 
civic improvements and gifts to local charities. We have 
to tolerate him, of course, but we older members deplore 
the fact that the general character of the club is changing. 
—Eh, Flint?” 

“Oh, Jim Whalen’s all right,” Flint said easily. “He s 
a self-made man and he can’t forget the fact that the 
Drakes were poorer than he in their youth. He does 
forget, though, that in spite of their poverty they were, as 
their family had been for generations, of the inner circle here 
when he was just a ragged little fellow in Brickyard Alley, 
and he cannot see why they still maintain the same attitude 
now toward him and his well-meaning wife, particularly 
as they have been getting in with some of the newer but 
really smart crowd hereabout. Won’t you dine with us 
here at the club, Greer?” 

“Thanks, no; I’m meeting some people at the Hilltop 
Inn.” Greer took the hint and rising held out his hand to 
Scottie. “Good-day, Mr. MacDonell. I hope I shall 
have the pleasure of a game with you while you are here.” 

Later, seated in the cozy dining-room, Flint remarked 
half-apologetically to his guest: 

“Nobody minds what old Greer says. We call him the 
Town Crier and let him babble as much as he pleases. He 
doesn’t really mean any harm.” 

“I’ve met his sort before in town clubs as well as country 
ones.” Scottie nodded thoughtfully. “Every man has 
his hobby, I suppose, whether it’s bee-keeping or archae- 
ology or the doings of the neighbors.” 

His host darted him a swift glance. 

“Mine is business, if you can call that a hobby,” he 
observed. “May I ask what yours is?” 


86 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Golf and my pipe, and a little jaunt now and then; it 
is all that is left to a man of my age except books, but in 

my younger days ” He paused and a twinkle came 

into his eyes. “I did a good bit of hunting — big game.” 

“Indeed!” Flint looked at him with fresh interest. 
“Africa?” 

“Once.” Scottie recalled vividly the search for a certain 
murderer which had taken him as far as Cape Town before 
he got his man. “I’ve tried the Rockies, too, on both 
sides of the border, but those times are past now. It would 
be better, perhaps, if I’d taken to something scientific, as 
this Roger Drake did, which would have left me with a 
real interest in life when I could no longer follow the trail.” 

“I suppose you think it odd that we should harp on the 
Drake family as we have this afternoon.” Edgerley Flint 
crumbled his bread rather nervously as he spoke and this 
time he did not glance up. “It was wretchedly bad form 
and all that before you, a stranger, but the fact is they 
have been practically our sole topic of conversation for 
the past fortnight, and it hasn’t all been actuated by 
personal animosity as in the case of Jim Whalen. As for 
Cy Greer, he would gossip about anybody under the sun! 
We are a dull, humdrum little community where nothing 
ever happens and when our oldest, proudest residents sud- 
denly exhibit signs of eccentricity which seem inexplicable 
it naturally becomes a nine days’ wonder.” 

“ ‘Eccentricity?’ ” Scottie’s hearty chuckle rumbled 
forth from his sandy beard. “That lecture, you mean? 
Although I know little or nothing about ancient peoples 
and the relics and records they have left behind them I 
gathered that this man is supposed to be an authority and 
surely he is entitled to his opinion.” 


MacDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 87 


“The lecture didn’t start the gossip,” his host replied 
slowly. “I am averse to keeping the ball rolling, par- 
ticularly as the Drakes are old acquaintances of mine, but 
you are bound to hear the story anyway, and purely as an 
abstract case it may interest you.” 

He briefly sketched an account of Hobart’s midnight 
oration up to the point of the constable’s interference, and 
Scottie’s chuckle became a roar of laughter. 

“Man, that’s rare!” he exclaimed. “It was a wee droppie 
too much, I doubt, that caused the eloquence but ’tis the 
best tale I’ve heard since I came to this country! No 
wonder it tickled your friend Whalen and whatever other 
enemies Drake may have made!” 

“ ‘Enemies?’ ” Flint caught up the word with a curious 
inflection. “I’ve never heard of any active ones. Of 
course he may have lively competitors on the Street; I 
have them in my business, the Lord knows, but Hobart 
isn’t the type of man to make either friends or enemies. 
Oh, there goes Grayle! Too bad, I wanted you to meet 
him, he’s an interesting sort of chap.” 

The man with the shock of white hair and bright, dark 
eyes, who had passed their group before dinner, paused in 
the doorway for a moment and then disappeared, evidently 
on the point of departure, for he wore an overcoat and 
carried his soft felt hat in his hand. 

“The bug-hunter? The man your friend Whalen called 
a nut?” Scottie asked, without glancing around. He did 
not mention that he also remembered hearing Grayle 
spoken of as Roger Drake’s pal and was profoundly grate- 
ful that he had avoided meeting him. It might be awkward 
later when/shorn of his beard, he assumed his second role, 


88 THE TATTOOED ARM 

if those keen , peering eyes were to recognize in him the late 
club guest. 

“He is by way of being an amateur naturalist.” Flint 
nodded. “Not a particularly learned one, doesn’t pretend 
to be, and he never inflicts his hobby on other people, but 
he certainly has a knack amounting to positive genius of 
making things grow in his garden and taming song birds 
and that sort of thing. He’s not much of a talker but when 
you get him started he can be mighty interesting, for he 
was formerly an importer of antiques and he used to travel 
pretty much over the world to gather and replenish his 
stock. He seldom stays at the club as late as this; usually 
goes home directly after his round of the links, but if you 
remain for a few days I hope I shall have an opportunity to 
present him.” 

“I must be getting back to town the day after tomorrow, 
I think,” Scottie replied. “It’s been very good of you, 
Mr. Flint, to extend your hospitality to me in this rather 
unconventional fashion and I appreciate it, but I have an- 
other engagement to keep later in the week.” 

“I had hoped to have you with us longer, but you must 
come back,” his host remarked as they rose. “Shall 
it be bridge or billiards, or will you sit in for a while at our 
national game? It is early yet but we are sure to find some 
of the poker crowd in the smoking-room.” 

Scottie was careful not to display too expert a knowledge 
of the game for the role he was playing; and meanwhile 
he studied the men about the table, but they were common- 
place types and the conversation was general, with no fur- 
ther reference to the Drake family. 

The crowd broke up fairly early and he retired to think 
over the pointers which he had gained. They were few 


MacDONELL OF GLEN GARRY 89 


beyond what had already been imparted to him by Owen 
Miles after his interview with Patricia in the attorney’s 
office, and yet one significant feature of the evening stood 
out prominently in his thoughts. Hobart Drake did have 
an enemy or enemies of whom Edgerley Flint knew, but 
the latter had denied it flatly and changed the subject 
in haste. Why? Then, too, he had remarked inadvertently 
that the story of Hobart’s escapade might interest his guest 
purely as an abstract case. Why, save for the medium of 
their introduction should he think that the supposed 
Scotch visitor would be interested in a ‘case’ of any kind? 
Did Flint suspect not only that he was an emissary of the 
official who had presented him, but that his mission was 
connected with the peculiar events in the Drake family, 
and was he trying to shield someone from being mentioned 
in the affair as an active enemy of one of them, perhaps 
of the man who had made such a ridiculous exhibition of 
himself? 

The last question was answered in a rather startling 
fashion the next day when, just before luncheon, after a 
foursome in which to his own satisfaction he had been in 
unusually good form, Scottie found himself alone on the 
veranda with the elderly disseminator of scandal, Cyrus 
Greer. 

“Kemp’s badly off his game,” the latter observed with 
unction. “Worried about that son of his, I suppose; 
that’s why he has taken a few days off from his business 
affairs to keep an eye on the boy. Dickie Kemp is hard 
hit over the daughter of Hobart Drake — you remember 
we were talking about the family last night?” 

Scottie nodded. 

“I heard later about Mr. Drake’s oration,” he replied. 


90 THE TATTOOED ARM 

“He and his kin do not seem to be over popular around 
here.” 

“Because they’ve always held their heads so high.” 
Greer laughed sneeringly. “Hardly anyone in the country- 
side was good enough for them, but they’ll sing a different 
tune now, I’ll wager! Being your host, Flint naturally 
didn’t want the subject gone into in detail before you, 
but I was really surprised at the way he stood up for them 
during the discussion, for there has been a regular feud 
between him and Hobart Drake for years. They are 
at heart the bitterest of enemies.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 

T O Scottie’s disgust Edgerley Flint himself appeared 
in the doorway at that moment looking for his 
guest and he had no further opportunity at that time 
to ascertain from his garrulous informant the nature of 
the enmity of which the latter had spoken, but he studied 
his host with more keenly speculative eyes during lunch 
and the motor spin to another country club which 
followed. 

He shrewdly suspected that this program had been 
arranged to get him away from the possibility of more 
gossip, and the conviction grew that his companion divined 
the purpose of his visit and had no intention of furthering 
it beyond continuing the hospitality he had not been in a 
position to refuse. Having no desire himself to force an 
issue he kept the conversation safely in impersonal chan- 
nels until they neared Brooklea once more on their return 
drive and more or less pretentious residences began to 
loom up on either hand. 

“Are these the homes of any of your club members 
whom I have met?” he asked. 

91 


92 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“That big stone house up there on the hill is what Jim 
Whalen referred to last evening as his ‘shack/ ” Flint 
waved toward the huge, conglomerate pile bristling with 
turrets which stood out above the trees. “It represents 
every period except the early Egyptian, I believe, but 
Mrs. Whalen is immensely proud of it. We are coming to 
the Kemp’s place now, on this side.” 

Scottie eyed with interest the large, conventionalized 
bungalow set back on a sloping lawn amid well-spaced 
groups of trees and shrubbery. A low, red runabout was 
drawn up before the veranda, and as they went by a young 
man ran down the steps and flung himself in behind the 
wheel with a violence which denoted a mood far from 
tranquil. 

“That is young Kemp now,” Flint observed, adding 
quickly: “This is Enslee Grayle’s cottage; the naturalist, 
you know. He calls it ‘The Rose Tree’ because of that 
enormous crimson rambler by the gate. It really is amazing 
when it is in bloom. In fact, Grayle has done wonders with 
the place. It was just an old, tumbled-down farmhouse 
when he took it, but now in season it is one of the minia- 
ture show places of the neighborhood in spite of its un- 
pretentiousness . ’ ’ 

He had slightly increased their speed and seemed to be 
talking more to make conversation than anything else as 
they passed a big, square, old Colonial mansion with 
spreading lawns which was separated from the tiny estate 
of the naturalist only by a squat, uneven hedge. Scottie 
was about to ask who lived there, but even as he opened 
his lips to voice the question a tall young man emerged 
from the garage and started for the back of the house. 
In spite of the big apron which all but covered his figure 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


93 


there was something unmistakably familiar in his lithe, 
free stride and the carriage of his head, and a twinkle came 
into the eyes of the Scotchman. That must be the home of 
the Drakes, for Sergeant Owen Miles was on the job. 

When they reached the club Flint was summoned to the 
telephone by a long-distance call and Scottie awaited his 
return before a tiny log fire which had been kindled on the 
hearth in the spacious entrance hall, for the fickle spring 
weather had turned chill with the setting of the sun. None 
of the members to whom he had been presented on the 
previous evening were present, but two women who were 
having tea at a small table nearby engaged his attention. 

One, buxom and obviously well past thirty was attired 
in a riding-habit, while her younger companion wore a 
tweed sport suit, and the golf bag resting against her chair 
indicated how she had spent the afternoon. The elder 
woman was leaning confidentially forward, talking rapidly 
in an undertone too low to reach the ears of the detective, 
but the expression of shocked yet avid interest on both their 
faces arrested him and when the young woman spoke her 
clear tones carried distinctly to him. 

“I can scarcely believe it! You say your husband told 
you so himself?” 

The other nodded an emphatic affirmative and spoke 
again in a quick, low voice. 

“But that is no sign of an unsound mind, merely super- 
sensitiveness,” the young woman observed. “They’ve 
always been ridiculously proud, and I suppose he couldn’t 
endure the kidding about that little stunt he pulled off a 
fortnight ago when he was — er — well, you know what the 
men are saying! They’ve been fighting shy of home distil- 
lation ever since, I understand. It is silly, though, for 


94 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


him to take it so seriously — tragically, I might say. Surely 
your husband must be mistaken!” 

“My dear, it was the talk of Wall Street when the market 
closed.” The elder woman rose and her impressive 
accents sounded across the intervening space. “It is more 
than silly; men of far less strength of character than he has 
shown in the past have lived down worse than he is facing 
now, for at least neither his moral reputation nor business 
integrity has been involved. Only a crazy man would take 
the course which he has evidently determined upon.” 

A steward approached with the card, which the younger 
woman signed, and then they went out to the veranda where 
at the steps a small car awaited them. When the table 
was cleared and the attendant had departed Scottie gazed 
reflectively into the fire. Undoubtedly they had been dis- 
cussing Hobart Drake, although no name was mentioned. 
What had the eccentric financier done that day which had 
become the “talk of Wall Street?” Should he risk an 
attempt to inform his colleague of the gossip which he had 
overheard and warn him to be on his guard for further 
developments? Discovery would not only prevent his 
future participation in the investigation but might endanger 
Owen Miles’ position as well. 

He was still undecided when his host reappeared, frown- 
ing in undisguised vexation. 

“Awfully sorry to have kept you waiting.” He had 
glanced quickly about as though glad to find his guest alone, 
but his anxiety did not diminish. “Fact is, a friend of mine, 
Charles Powell, has been seriously injured in a motor acci- 
dent on the South Shore and they have sent for me. It is 
unavoidable, I am afraid; hope you won’t think me in- 
hospitable ?” 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


95 


Was this a ruse to get rid of him? Scottie interrupted 
with well-assumed heartiness: 

‘‘By no means, my dear man! I understand and I only 
regret the injury to your friend. Since I had to return to 
town tomorrow in any event we’ll but miss an evening’s 
confab together and that can be deferred till next week 
when I hope you will be my guest in town. I’ll be taking 
the next train ” 

“Oh, I couldn’t hear of it!” Flint interrupted in his turn, 
and there could be no mistaking the sincerity of his tone 
whatever the motive which actuated him. “I’ll return 
before midnight and in the meantime I insist that you make 
yourself thoroughly at home. The head steward will look 
out for you and some of the club members you met last 
night and today will be sure to drop in later. You must 
not think of going because of this unfortunate demand upon 
my services.” 

Scottie remonstrated further but, convinced that the other 
meant what he said, he finally gave in and saw Flint depart 
upon his mission. There was still a lingering doubt in his 
mind, however. Was “Charles Powell” a myth, and did 
Flint mean to shadow him if he left the club and try to 
discover the ulterior motive in his presence there? The 
Scotchman chuckled drily to himself as he turned and made 
his way to the dining-room; if his host meant to adopt the 
role of amateur sleuth he would give him a run for his 
money! 

He had scarcely ^seated himself when Cyrus Greer 
appeared and seeing him alone sidled over to his table. 

“Not dining by yourself?” he asked. “I feared I should 
have to, as my wife is away on a visit, but if Flint has been 
called elsewhere — I saw him tearing down the drive just 


96 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


now in that lumbering bus of his — I hope you’ll let me be 
your host in his stead. I’m not intruding ?” 

Scottie explained and promptly accepted the invitation, 
adding as the weazened little man insinuated himself into the 
chair opposite: 

“You were saying something this noon about a feud 
between my friend Flint and this Drake clan. ’Tis queer 
I’d not heard of it nor them before coming here.” 

“Oh, it’s a matter of long standing — goes back a genera- 
tion, as I well remember.” Greer cackled and bent for- 
ward. “One shouldn’t tell tales out of school, but the 
late Mrs. Hobart Drake was first engaged to Edgerley 
Flint and when she threw him over he swore to get even 
with his successful rival if it took him a lifetime. They 
patched up a sort of formal truce, however, years ago, and 
the affair was all but forgotten by most people until the 
Drakes brought this notoriety upon themselves just lately. 
I can tell you , though , that at the time it was a social scandal 
that was the talk of the older families out here.” 

“You are an old resident yourself, I take it, Mr. Greer?” 
Scottie spoke indifferently and gazed at the steaming plate 
of soup before him as though that attracted his greater 
interest. 

“Three generations of us have lived at Greer Court, just 
a few miles east of Brooklea, but the Drakes were here 
before us. I never saw much of them in the days of their 
poverty, for I was older and went with a different set and 
then, too, you have heard how they kept to themselves. 
However, in a small community like this one is bound to 
know more or less about the intimate home life of the 
neighbors and it was common gossip that if it hadn’t been 
for Hobart’s small salary at the bank and the money paid 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


97 


for board and tuition by the backward young college men 
whom Roger coached between courses the family would have 
starved, to say nothing of scraping together the money 
to pay taxes on the dreary, tumbled-down old house.” 

“So this archaeology man was a teacher, eh?” Scot tie 
asked. “Did he have any scientific hobby in those days?” 

“Not that I recall, although he was always experimenting 
with chemicals and dabbling in photography when he 
could afford the paraphernalia; the Drakes were always too 
proud to go into debt,” Greer replied grudgingly . “Jerusha, 
the old maid sister, boarded the students, and she and that 
maid of hers, Mehitabel Higgs, kept house. They still 
have the old manservant, too, who did odd jobs about the 
place then and tried to coax a few vegetables out of the 
worn-out garden when Andrew was away. The Lord only 
knows what they lived on in the winter or how they kept 
warm, but you ought to see the place now!” 

“Andrew Drake must have been a bit of a wanderer then 
before ever he went to Australia,” observed Scottie. “Did 
he follow no profession nor calling in this country?” 

“He ran the farm until they had to sell it to keep the 
homestead going; it was a large tract just back of the 
grounds upon which their house stands. Then he went 
somewhere up into the New England states to a manu- 
facturing plant — paper or wood pulp, if I remember 
rightly — but he didn’t make a success of it and returned 
home a few months before luck changed and their inher- 
itance came. Sheep-raising was about his metier, I fancy. 
He never was artistic, like Hobart and Roger; in fact, he 
was unlike them in many ways and now in later years the 
dissimilarity has appeared more marked on the few occa- 
sions when I have encountered him.” 


98 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


‘The Australian bush would naturally tend to make him 
more rough and ready than Wall Street or the seats of 
learning of Europe, I’m thinking.” Scottie accepted the 
cigar which the steward tendered and settled back in his 
chair. “But Hobart Drake worked in a bank, you say? 
That doesn’t give much scope for artistic ability.” 

“Oh, he merely dabbled as a schoolboy in pen-and-ink 
sketches; clever they were, too, and he might have made a 
name for himself as an etcher with the proper training, but 
by the time the money came he had been thinking too long 
in terms of finance and his only aim in life was to make 
more.” Greer shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Jerusha 
didn’t change any, though. Beyond restoring the house 
and grounds to a modern semblance of their old-time 
stately charm she has lived on there just the same as ever. 
They all joined the club as a matter of duty but except on 
rare occasions Hobart’s young daughter is the only one of 
them to favor it with her presence, and I think they scarcely 
approve of that!” 

“Ver-ry interesting family,” commented Scottie as they 
rose. “I should like to have made their acquaintance if I 
were not returning to town tomorrow. Have you heard 
anything about the doings on the Street today? I’m taking 
a little flyer on the market myself.” 

Greer shook his head. 

“Only the closing report in the paper; there didn’t seem 
to be much activity. Hello, there’s Jim Whalen. What a 
bore! We won’t encourage him ” 

But Whalen needed no encouragement. He strode for- 
ward as soon as he saw them, his red face ruddier still and 
alive with excitement, and demanded in a voice loud enough 
to carry to the veranda outside: 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


99 


“Say, have you heard about Hobart Drake? There's a 
rumor that he is preparing to sell all his holdings, cashing in 
his financial chips — through!” 

It was close on to midnight with an overcast sky and a 
sharp east wind soughing through the bare branches of the 
trees surrounding Drake Hall when a stocky, robust figure 
enveloped in a heavy ulster wormed its way with surprising 
agility through a gap in the hedge and started a circuitous 
course about the house, moving cautiously from clump to 
clump of the shrubbery which reared its bulk against the 
lesser darkness. 

At the rear it all but collided with a shambling, hunched 
individual who, lantern in hand, appeared around the cor- 
ner, but Euripides Lunt had made his final lap and he was 
on the look-out for no intruder. Shivering and muttering 
to himself he shuffled off to the garage and when its door 
had closed behind him with the sound of a bolt rattling into 
place the stranger moved forward once more, glancing up 
expectantly at the blank expanse of unlighted windows. 

It was only when he reached the other side of the house 
that a faint glimmer showed itself on the third floor close to 
where a stout vine clambered up the wall. Silhouetted 
against the dim patch of light which outlined the window, 
appeared the profile of a man. Semi-obscurely as it was 
revealed, the watcher below recognized it, for he chuckled 
and, stooping, picked up a handful of loose gravel from the 
driveway which he flung lightly but with nice precision 
against the window. 

Almost instantly the light behind it was extinguished, 
there came the slight, grating sound of a carefully raised 
sash, and the tiny spark of a cigarette gleamed just above 


100 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


the sill. A low, peculiar whistle emanated from the lips of 
the nocturnal visitor, and the cigarette, describing a wide 
arc, fell upon the lawn almost at his feet as the window was 
softly closed once more. 

No light reappeared in the upstairs room, but in a few 
moments the kitchen door opened and Owen Miles in the 
sweater and sneakers of his nightly vigil slipped around the 
corner of the house and literally precipitated himself upon 
the waiting man. 

“Scottie, old scout! I knew you’d try to get in touch 
with me if you could and I’ve been making a motion picture 
‘still’ of myself against that window shade since nine 
o’clock,” he whispered. “Come around the other side; 
we can talk with less danger of being discovered and 
there’s an entrance I’ve got to watch. Have you learned 
anything from that country club crowd that might have a 
bearing on the case?” 

“General history of the family and the way the neighbors 
regard them,” Scottie grunted as he allowed himself to be 
hurried around the driveway to a point of vantage at the 
end of the veranda, near the French window which had 
been the scene of the mysterious exit of two nights before. 
“There were one or two odd little details in that history 
that may come in handy, lad, but I’ve come especially 
to warn you of a rumor that’s reached the set out here of 
some strange actions of Hobart Drake’s in Wall Street 
today. He’s home the night?” 

“Yes, and calmer and more self-contained than I’ve 
seen him since I came!” Miles exclaimed in low- voiced 
surprise. 

“That’s because his mind is made up,” returned Scottie. 
“Unless the rumor is unfounded — and it has come from 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


101 


more than one source — our friend Hobart is planning to 
retire or make his getaway. He has started the wheels in 
motion to wind up his business affairs and somehow the 
news leaked out. Has he made no mention of it that you 
overheard?” 

“None, and he doesn’t seem like the type of man to give 
up the financial game or run away because of a little no- 
toriety.” Miles spoke slowly as though trying to fit the 
news into the puzzle of facts which he had himself gleaned. 
“Only yesterday morning when he opened a letter which 
had been slipped into the mail — a letter with a previously 
cancelled stamp, Scottie, and a fake postmark — he burst 
out with a declaration of defiance that showed all his 
fighting blood was up, but he regained control of himself 
before he let slip what it was he was defiant of or whom he 
meant to fight.” 

Briefly and rapidly he told his colleague of the events 
which had occurred since his installation as the pseudo- 
house-servant up to the unsatisfactory conversation with 
Euripides Lunt on the previous afternoon, when the older 
man broke in upon him. 

“Did you find the letter in the library?” he asked. 

“No, nor during the night, when I got into Hobart 
Drake’s room while he slept and went through the clothes 
he had worn and all of his personal effects to which I could 
gain access,” the detective sergeant responded. “I didn’t 
have a chance to search the library thoroughly though, 
for shortly after I began a delegation of scientists called to 
interview Roger Drake. He’d suffered a nervous reaction 
from that attempt of his to commit suicide the night before, 
but he insisted on seeing them. I tried to listen in on the 
conversation but Miss Drake was hovering about and I 


102 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


couldn’t risk it. He was white as a ghost when he showed 
them out but as dignified as ever, and I gathered from their 
attitude that he had more than held his own with them 
although he collapsed again after their departure. Noth- 
ing of any importance has happened since; no more letters, 
no more scenes or prowling about at night and yet there’s 
a queer sort of suspense in the air, as though everyone were 
waiting for something to drop! Andrew is the only one who 
seems to be unaffected by it, but there is a forced and un- 
natural note in his boisterous cheerfulness and the reckless 
though veiled way he tries to joke with the others and make 
light of the situation . Upon my soul , I don’ t know whether 
we’re dealing with a bunch of lunatics or if they are the 
victims of some obscure form of villainy that is unprece- 
dented in the annals of the Department. I am on the point 
of developing nerves over the problem myself! I’ll be glad 
when you tackle your job here.” 

“Donald MacDonell will be getting back to town to- 
morrow,” Scottie observed. “I’ve got all I can from the 
country club gossip and I don’t want the members to know 
me so well that they might recognize me by my voice or 
some little turn of speech when I’m shorn of my beard and 
in service here. I can present myself late tomorrow 
night ?” 

“Better make it bright and early on Friday morning 
before the commuters start for the city,” Miles interrupted. 
“I won’t try to see you alone until the evening when we can 
meet out here and compare notes. Frankly, what do you 
think of it all, Scottie?” 

“I’m no thinkin* yet,” the other replied cannily. “I’m 
speerin’ about for a sign that’ll put us on the right track, 
Owen lad, and it may be the strangest one we’ve ever 


THE FOURTH VICTIM 


103 


followed together, but we’ll see it through. I’ll have to be 
hurrying back to the club now before my host returns to 
find me gone. He’s not any too easy in his mind over why 
the Chief planted me here under his sponsorship and I’ll 
not add to his anxiety. Everything seems quiet enough 
here the night.” 

“I’m taking no chances.” Miles glanced up at the 
apparently sleeping house and shook his head once more. 
“Good-bye, Scottie. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“On the first train.” He grasped the younger man’s 
hand. “Good luck to you in the meantime, lad, and 
goodnight.” 

Miles watched until the bulky form had vanished in the 
darkness and the rising wind drowned the sound of his 
colleague’s footsteps on the frosty ground. Then he turned 
and making his way back to the kitchen door, entered and 
fastened it behind him. 

He had started for the servants’ staircase when a flicker- 
ing glow from the front of the house made him pause with 
every sense alert. It seemed to radiate from a door at the 
right of the hall and although too dim and wavering for 
electric light it was too wide-spreading for the rays of a 
candle. 

Noiselessly he crept toward it ready to flatten himself 
against the wall if anyone appeared, but the glow remained 
stationary and he saw that it emanated from the drawing- 
room. As he advanced the sputter of flames and hissing 
thud of a falling log came to his ears and then the dull 
clank of metal. Who could be tending a fire there on the 
hearth in the still hours of the night? 

Carefully he drew aside a fold of the heavy curtains 
which draped the doorway and peered in. There was no 


104 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


light save that from the tiny blaze burning itself out in the 
fireplace but against its glow he saw outlined a huddled, 
shapeless figure in a loose robe kneeling before the hearth, 
and while he gazed a narrow tongue of flame leaped up, 
glistening on a heavy coil of silvery hair which hung to the 
floor. It was Miss Jerusha Drake! 

Holding his breath and moving silently inch by inch 
Miles slipped through the curtains and into the shadow 
behind a tall cabinet, from around the farther side of which 
he could gain a more direct view of the crouching woman . 
She was swaying back and forth, and now a low, indistin- 
guishable mutter not unlike some weird incantation issued 
from her lips. 

The flame died and Miss Jerusha drew a deep breath. 

“Gone!” The mutter resolved itself into dull, monot- 
onously intoned speech at last. “Ashes, every one! If 
only the first had never been conceived this horror would 
not have descended upon us. They are destroyed, but their 
fumes breathe poison!” 

Her hands clutched at her throat as though she were 
indeed choking and for a moment the woman seemed on the 
verge of collapse. Then catching up a small object which 
had lain on the rug by her side she rose and turned. A 
tiny pin-point of light shot out before her, and Miles saw 
that the object she carried was an electric torch, its eery 
gleam distorting her face, with the wisps of gray hair falling 
about it, into the semblance of the veriest witch. 

He shrank back, fearful lest she discover his presence, 
but Miss Jerusha stared straight before her with the wild 
blank gaze of one who looks upon the hideous visions of a 
mind distraught, and slowly, gropingly she passed from the 
room. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


A SOFT, warm rain was falling when Miles awakened 
the next morning, and in the clear, gray light the 
L scene which he had witnessed in the drawing-room 
seemed vague and unreal. Surely his nerves were getting 
the best of him, as he had insinuated half in jest to Scottie. 
That creature with disheveled hair and crazed eyes could 
not have been the dignified, self-contained Miss Drake, 
nor could that cryptic speech have issued from her lips! 

Then as the last mists of sleep drifted from his mind the 
detective frowned thoughtfully. It had been no trick of 
his imagination nor had his eyes and ears played him false. 
What had the mistress of the house burned in that secret 
hour? 

After her departure he had followed her to the door of 
her room, then gone on up to his own for his torch and 
returned to the drawing-room to rake carefully in the pale 
embers on the hearth, but nothing remained save a heap of 
fine feathery ashes intermingled with the coarser flakes from 
the charred wood. 

Had those lighter ashes been old documents or letters 
105 


106 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


just a few minutes before his coming? That they bore 
upon the strange happenings which had occurred in that 
household during the past fortnight, or at least that Miss 
Jerusha believed they did, the detective could not doubt; 
she could have meant nothing else by her allusion to the 
“horror’* which had descended upon them all, and the 
bitter despair underlying the singsong monotone seemed 
to sound again in his ears. 

Could it have been a packet of old love letters whose 
“very fumes breathed poison?” Austere and unapproach- 
able as she had always appeared to the community, there 
was nevertheless the possibility of an unhappy, long-buried 
romance whose ghost still rose to taunt and secretly humil- 
iate her proud spirit, but it could have had no effect upon 
the mentality of her brothers; only disease or some subtle, 
diabolical human agency whose methods were as yet 
wrapped in impenetrable mystery could account for their 
strange behavior, and assuredly madness had looked out 
from the woman’s eyes last night! 

She had said the fumes were “poisonous” and now it 
seemed to Miles that there had been a faint but persistently 
acrid odor in the air of the room which mere burned paper 
would not have produced. He resolved to go down before 
Euripides Lunt cleaned out the fireplace and obtain a small 
quantity of those ashes for analysis, but in the meantime 
another question flashed across his mind. 

Miss Jerusha had spoken of poison, and it was by means 
of poison that Roger had attempted to take his own life; 
could there have been any connection between her train of 
thought and his barely frustrated act? John Wells, the 
eminent attorney, who had summoned him from Head- 
quarters to institute the investigation would be the last 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


107 


person in the world, with his ruthlessly logical mind, to 
entertain a fantastic theory; yet even he had not disdained 
frankly to consider the possibility thht some strange 
drug, self-administered or otherwise, might be driving the 
three brothers slowly mad. He had not, however, antici- 
pated that Miss Jerusha would be similarly affected, but-the 
detective could no longer doubt, with the memory of that 
distraught face before him, that she had fallen prey to the 
same obsession or malign influence which held the others in 
thrall. 

Realizing the futility of idle speculation he rose and, 
dressing, descended through the still sleeping house to the 
drawing-room, carrying a small pasteboard box for the ashes 
he meant to preserve. To his amazement the hearth was 
swept clean and not a vestige remained of the fire which had 
been kindled the night before. Surely it was too early for 
Euripides to have started upon his daily duties! 

Hastening out into the hall he opened the door of the 
closet under the stairs. The mailbag was hanging in its 
accustomed place and the handy man’s first task of the 
morning was to take it to the post-office. Had Miss 
Jerusha herself returned to remove the ashes? If so, the 
action would show the working of a mind far from de- 
ranged , and the possibility opened up a new and bewildering 
train of thought. 

Miles berated himself for not having taken a specimen 
of the ashes, hot and glowing as they were, at the time that 
the opportunity had been his, but it was too late for regret 
on that score and he was about to close the closet door 
when the mailbag once more caught his eye and on impulse 
he took it down and emptied its contents upon the floor. 

Three letters addressed in a fine but shaken hand to as 


108 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


many different societies for scientific research he sorted out 
and laid on one side, together with several inscribed in old- 
fashioned feminine chirography to tradesmen, local and in 
the city, and one to a “Mrs. Hastings de la Marre” at 
Huntingdon. There was left only a large, square, pale- 
blue envelope — upon which in unmistakably girlish writing 
he read: “Miss Millicent Armitage, Lane’s End, Oyster 
Bay, N. Y.” — and another smaller white one of cheap 
quality scrawled laboriously to “Eliphalet Higgs, Esq., 
Freedale, Long Island.” The last two, together with the 
de la Marre letter, one in the same hand addressed to a 
New York caterer and one of those intended for a scientific 
society, he thrust into his pocket; the rest he returned to the 
mailbag and hung it back upon its hook. 

There was still no sign of life about the house and, 
hastening to the kitchen, Miles soon had a kettle boiling 
and expertly steamed open the envelopes. The de la Marre 
missive, couched in terms of conventionally formal regret, 
merely recalled an invitation to a dinner “because of illness 
in the family”; the message to the caterer canceled an order 
for the same date; both bore the signature of Jerusha Drake. 
The third envelope was that addressed to the scientific 
society and contained, without explanation, Roger’s resig- 
nation from that learned body. 

Resealing them quickly the detective took up the Arm- 
itage letter which felt so bulky that he was not surprised 
to take from it a folded inner envelope inscribed: “Mr. 
Richard Kemp.” It was unaddressed, but the accompany- 
ing letter was explanatory: 

Millie, dearest: 

I am going to ask a most tremendous favor of you and the 
worst of it is that I cannot explain now, but when I see you I 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


109 


will tell you everything. I am not allowed to see or even write 
to Dickie any more — it isn’t that he has done anything, he is the 
darlingest boy alive, but both our families have decided to break 
up our happiness and Aunt Jerusha watches me like a lynx! Will 
you put the enclosed letter in one of your own envelopes and 
address it to Dickie for me? His people don’t know your writing, 
thank goodness, and this is the only way I can reach him. For 
heaven’s sake don’t fail me for I am simply heartbroken! 

Hastily but with fondest love, 

Bat. 


Miles smiled to himself as he resealed the letter with its 
enclosure, but his gravity returned when he opened the 
final envelope: 

My dr. Brother, [he read] 

I take my pen in hand to let you know that I am well and 
hope you and all are the same but I can’t say as much for the folks. 
I would have wrote before thanking you and Jane for asking me 
to pay you a visit but I couldn’t noways think of leaving Miss 
Jerusha now. The house has not been the same since Andrew 
came back from foreign parts more noisy and fresh like than 
when he was a boy only different but up to his old tricks. He 
played a joke on the houseman Monday and scairt him so he left 
but it is small loss anyway though we got a new one that is not 
much better except that he minds his own business and is too 
dumh-witted to see beyond the end of his nose. The worst thing 
is that Hobart has took to liquor and made a holy show of himself 
in the town and all the neighbors are talking, but it only happened 
once and maybe won’t again. Roger has got himseif in a mess 
too over a speech he made in the schoolhouse last week and Pete 
Doolittle come right out in the paper on Saturday and as much 
as said he was crazy. I am commencing to think they are all 
getting queer again like they was years ago when they first come 
into the money. Do you recollect what I told you about their 
actions? Seems like it was yesterday. Miss Jerusha has not 
been herself lately and no wonder with the gossip and all and 
she has put a stop to Pat going out with that nice young man 
I wrote you about but I guess it will come out all right. Carter 
has took to his bed again to be waited on the old fraud. 

Tell Jane I will write to her soon but no mQre now from 
Y'r aff’t sister 


Hitty. 


110 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


Slowly Miles replaced the letter and gummed the flap 
of the envelope together once more. He had heretofore 
regarded the lugubrious Mehitabel as a negligible char- 
acter, but he realized all at once that she might be well 
worth cultivating in spite of her unflattering opinion of 
himself. That she had a natural predilection for gossip 
was evident from her letter and if once he could gain her 
confidence he would learn details of the intimate family life 
of the Drakes which only she would be in a position to dis- 
close. She thought “they were all getting queer again” as 
they were when their inheritance came. That was the out- 
standing phrase in her letter which struck him with the 
greatest force, and it was obvious that the memory of 
their actions at that far-off time were deeply impressed upon 
her. He had heard no hint of any previous display of eccen- 
tricity in the family, and he made up his mind to sound her 
at the first favorable opportunity which presented itself. 

Returning to the closet under the stairs he placed the 
letters again in the mailbag and had only time to procure 
his mop and broom when Euripides appeared, yawning 
prodigiously. 

“Mus’ be aimin’ to wo’k you’self out, Willyum,” he ob- 
served. “You ain’t got it hard like what I is, though, 
traipsin’ ’round de gyarden on til midnight and den up at 
cock-crow, rain or shine. De more you does, de more dey 
puts on you in dis world!” 

“You just up, Rip?” Miles inquired with a laugh. 
“Haven’t you even cleaned the fireplaces yet or filled the 
woodboxes or swept the porch?” 

“Man, don’t you get humorous wid me!” retorted Rip 
with dignity. “Sleep is de onliest thing what I don’t get 
enough of in dis place an’ I ain’t fixin’ to lose none when I 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


111 


don’t have to, ’sides, I ain’t messin’ ’round no fiahplaces 
ontil I gets back wid de mail. Soon as it gets too warm for 
log-fiahs de grass begins to grow an’ has to be cut, an’ if 
’tain’t dat it’s somepin else! Lordy, hear dat rain!” 

He procured the mailbag and went out grumbling, but 
the detective was answered. It must have been Miss 
Jerusha herself who removed all evidences of whatever it 
was she had destroyed. 

She was her usual calmly reserved self at breakfast, 
however, and although Miles studied her narrowly he could 
perceive no trace in her appearance or manner of the emo- 
tion which had possessed her at that midnight hour. Roger 
was engrossed in his own thoughts, Andrew plainly restless 
and bored with the weather and the society of his relatives, 
and Hobart maintained a dignified silence, but his portly 
figure seemed to have shrunken and the gray at his temples 
was intensified by the new lines which had appeared in his 
face. The detective wondered if his colleague could have 
been right in his surmise, if the financier had indeed resolved 
to retire in his prime merely because of the unwelcome 
notoriety which had descended upon the family. It was 
unthinkable that he should be planning, as Scottie expressed, 
it, a “getaway.” For the sake of his daughter alone, al- 
though he had shown no marked demonstrations of affection 
for her, it was incredible that he would go away and leave 
her under the shadow which rested upon them all. 

Patricia herself made a mere pretense at eating and her 
eyelids were suspiciously reddened. She slipped away as 
soon as the meal was over, and shortly after her father had 
departed for the city Andrew, in a raincoat and old felt 
hat, announced that he was going for a walk. 

Roger had shut himself in his room and Miss Jerusha, too, 


112 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


had retired upstairs when the desk telephone in the library 
rang insistently. Miles at work in the pantry hesitated, 
but as the shrill summons continued he finally went to the 
instrument and lifted the receiver from the hook. 

4 ‘Who is this?” The voice which came to him over the 
wire had been addressed to him only on one previous 
occasion but he had heard it often enough in court to place 
it instantly as that of the man who had been in his thoughts 
a few hours earlier. It was the attorney, John Wells. 

“William Brown, sir, the new houseman.” As he re- 
plied Miles listened but no sound of a footfall came from 
the stairs. 

“Sergeant Miles? Wells speaking. Is there anyone 
else within earshot? I know that ’phone has no extension 
above the first floor.” The tone was cautiously lowered, 
but the words came distinctly and Miles replied: 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. There is something that I thought you ought to 
know if I could get you on the wire. Hobart Drake is 
winding up all his business affairs. This may not be strict- 
ly professional but in the interests of our young client I 
felt bound to acquaint you with the facts. They will be 
common property in a few days at most. He came to me 
yesterday afternoon after the market closed to have all his 
permament investments turned into negotiable securities 
at once; securities that would be negotiable anywhere, he 
was insistent upon that, and immovable in his determina- 
tion even when I showed him that he would have to pocket 
a considerable loss in selling out certain properties now. 
He did not mention it, but I gathered that he meant to 
dispose of his seat on the Stock Exchange as well. Has he 


THE LADY IN BROWN 113 

talked this over with any member of the family in your 
hearing?” 

• “No, sir.” Because of a possible eavesdropper Miles 
did not dare add that a rumor concerning the financier’s 
latest move had already reached the country club. 

“I thought as much. Keep an eye on him, Sergeant, 
and get in touch with me if I can help you in any way.” 

“Yes, sir. I will.” 

“If it is necessary, tell Miss Jerusha that I called up 
hoping to catch Hobart before he left for the city, but that 
I will communicate with him at his office, that it was not 
important. How are things coming?” 

Miles hesitated but an unmistakable creak from the 
staircase warned him to bring the conversation to a close. 

“Very good, sir,” he responded ambiguously but with the 
respectful finality of a well-trained servant and hung up the 
receiver, abruptly cutting short a slight chuckle which 
came from the other end of the line. When he turned 
Roger Drake stood before him. 

“Who was that?” the scientist asked sharply. 

“A Mr. Wells, sir. He wanted Mr. Hobart Drake.” 
Miles repeated the gist of the brief message which had been 
given him to offer as an excuse for the call and started to 
leave the room, but the other halted him. 

“I wonder if you will go on an errand for me, William? 
I know it is raining but the post office is just opposite the 
station, you won’t find it far, and I have an important letter 
which must go in the next mail. Lunt is nowhere about 
when he is wanted, as usual.” 

“I’ll go at once, sir,” Miles paused and added: “Miss 
Drake will excuse me from doing the upper floors until 
later?” 


114 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Of course. I’ll speak to her.” Roger waved the ques- 
tion aside impatiently. “Can you find your way to the 
village?” 

“Oh, yes, sir. I drove Mr. Hobart there on Tuesday, 
you know. I’ll get my hat and coat immediately, sir.” 

When he returned Roger awaited him at the foot of the 
back stairs and gave him a long envelope. There seemed 
to be something covertly nervous in his bearing which he 
tried to conceal by a cloak of unwonted asperity and he 
was in evident haste to despatch the supposed servant upon 
his errand. 

“Here you are, William.” He pressed a dollar bill upon 
him. “Buy yourself some cigars or whatever it is that 
you smoke if you do smoke, but be sure that letter gets 
off in the next post without fail.” 

Miles reassured him, thanked him for the tip and went 
out the kitchen door, glad of the opportunity for a walk in 
spite of the rain which by now had settled into a gentle 
drizzle. It was a relief, too, to get away from the gloom 
of the house and the atmosphere of suspense that seemed 
to brood over it, and he realized for the first time how irk- 
some it must be for a man of Andrew Drake’s rugged, out- 
door habits and none too complex emotions to accustom 
himself to such an existence. 

But what of Andrew’s own imbecilic seizure when the 
former houseman had found him playing with ornaments 
as though they were toys and he had groveled before him 
on hands and knees? Was the simple explanation the true 
one, after all? Had his love of horse-play prompted him 
to frighten the timid servant? And Roger, too! Was his 
brilliant if erratic lecture but an error in judgment and 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


115 


Hobart’s midnight oration before the soldiers’ monument 
the result of over-indulgence in spirits? 

The various explanations, however, would not account 
for the conversation he had overheard between Andrew 
and Roger when the latter had attempted to kill himself, 
nor for the scene in the drawing-room on the previous 
night, and John Wells’ attitude added weight to the 
theory that something far more sinister lay at the root of 
the problem. 

Absorbed in his thoughts the detective had plodded 
mechanically along the path which bordered the high road 
with scarcely a glance about him, and it was with a start of 
surprise that he saw the raincoat and bedraggled, broad- 
brimmed hat of Andrew Drake just ahead. He was walk- 
ing rapidly beside a taller, more distinguished figure whose 
vigorous strides belied the shock of white hair which showed 
beneath his cap, and Miles recognized him as the visitor on 
the night of his arrival, the next door neighbor, Enslee 
Grayle. 

What could these two, so widely dissimilar in character 
and proclivities, have in common? Miles hastened his 
footsteps and was almost at their heels when they turned 
abruptly off at the head of a lane between two tall hedges. 
He looked after them uncertainly for a moment, but the 
path they had chosen was narrow and stretched far into the 
distance with no visible break and he could not very well 
explain his presence if Andrew should turn and discover him. 
Then, too, he must not unduly delay his return to the house 
lest he be entrusted with no more errands, and he was 
about to continue on his way to the village when a hand was 
laid upon his arm and he turned to find a woman beside 
him. She was dressed in a tailored suit of brown which 


116 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


displayed the buxom lines of her figure with rather startling 
frankness; a hat with a mass of drooping ostrich plumes 
of the same color framed a face that was undeniably pretty 
although of a coarse type, and bold hazel eyes gazed into 
his from beneath a fringe of all-too-yellow hair. 

“I sye, ’oo is that man?” she demanded with an impera- 
tive nod toward the pair who had struck off down the lane. 
‘They came out o’ that bit of an ’ouse back there with the 
rouse bush over the gaite. Friends o’ yours?” 

“I know who they are,” Miles responded guardedly, 
wondering how this typical product of London’s East End 
came to be in that sleepy Long Island village. “Which 
man do you mean?” 

The woman’s eyes crinkled shrewdly at the corners and 
she smiled impudently up at him. 

“Both!” she retorted. 

“The man in the raincoat is Mr. Andrew Drake and the 
older one is his neighbor, the owner of the house from 
which you say they came. His name is Mr. Enslee 
Grayle.” 

“Ow, is it?” Her eyes shifted from his to rest con- 
templatively upon the two figures already misty in the 
slanting rain and she drew a deep breath. “Strike me pink 
if I didn’t fancy one o’ ’em was an old pal o’ mine! — I sye, 
’ow far is it to the station of this bloomink village, wotever 
its nyme is? My car broke down a mile back and I’ve 
got to be at the studio in New York at twelve.” 

“This is Brooklea and the station is half a mile further 
on, but here comes a jitney and it appears to be empty.” 
Miles gestured toward a ramshackle taxi which was rattling 
down the road. “If you care to take it, it will get you there 
in time for the next train.” 


THE LADY IN BROWN 


117 


“Wot luck!” She waved to the driver of the approaching 
vehicle and then once more her eyes sought the lane. 
“Andrew Drake, you said, and the w’ite-headed old toff is 
Enslee Grayle? My mistyke! Well, cheerio! If you've 
a cinema in this giddy metropolis watch for little Maizie. 
To the station, my man, and look sharp!” 


CHAPTER X 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 

M ILES stood in the path beneath his dripping 
umbrella staring after the jitney until its outlines 
blurred and vanished in the slanting rain. The 
woman who had so suddenly appeared from nowhere with 
her strangely abrupt question was a motion picture actress; 
that would account for her reference to the “studio” in 
town, but had she not some ulterior object in alluding to 
her profession and giving him her name? She could not 
have known from his attire or manner that he was occu- 
pying the position of a servant, and mistaking him for a 
neighbor of the two men in whose identity she had evinced 
so eager an interest she might have counted upon him to 
relate to them the incident of the chance meeting. 

Of one thing he was certain; the names “Andrew Drake” 
and “Enslee Grayle” were wholly unfamiliar to her, but 
although upon hearing them she had tried to dissemble it 
was obvious that she still thought she recognized in one 
of the two individuals themselves an acquaintance from the 
past. An Englishwoman of her flamboyant, Cockney type 
might very well have drifted to Australia at one time or 

118 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 119 


another with some cheap theatrical troupe, and it was con- 
ceivable that she could have encountered Andrew in one 
of his trips to Sydney or Melbourne from the sheep-ranch 
in the bush, but that would imply the possibility of his 
having for some reason adopted an alias and the supposi- 
tion was too wildly improbable. 

Recalling his errand, Miles hastened on to the village 
and entered the post-office, but before dropping Roger’s 
letter into the mail slot he glanced at the inscription. It 
was addressed to Professor Warren Masterson, at the city’s 
foremost university, and an imposing string of degrees 
followed the name. 

He lost no time in returning to the house and hurried 
through his belated task of putting to rights the rooms 
upstairs. Andrew did not appear until nearly lunch time, 
and while Miles was serving the meal Patricia asked: 

“Did you have a pleasant walk, Uncle Andrew?” 

“Not the sort I intended to have when I started out,” 
he replied. “I wanted a good swing of about ten or twelve 
miles but Grayle hailed me and made me come in to look 
at some beastly roots he is growing under glass! I don’t 
know how you can put up with the prosy old bore, Roger! 
When I tried to break away on the plea that I needed a walk 
he volunteered to come along, and we have been plowing 
through muddy lanes for the better part of two hours! 
He isn’t contented with puttering around his own place but 
wants to help plan out our garden this year.” 

“He will be of valuable assistance,” Roger commented. 
“If he intended to raise a flock of sheep, for instance, 
wouldn’t you offer him the benefit of your practical knowl- 
edge of that industry? By the way, Jerusha, when is the 
new gardener coming?” 


120 


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“I am not sure, but he may arrive any day,” his sister 
responded. “He was to have been here this week without 
fail and we shall need him, I think, for this rain will mark 
a definite change to real spring weather.” 

The desultory talk drifted to other subjects during the 
remainder of the meal and at its conclusion quiet settled 
over the house but it was not the quiet of peace and con- 
tentment. As Miles polished the silver and rearranged it 
in the tall Spanish cabinets it seemed to him that the ten- 
sion deepened in the brooding silence and it was a relief 
when Patricia stole into the pantry later. 

“I’ve wanted to have an opportunity to talk with you 
but I couldn’t before; my aunt watches me so closely,” she 
whispered and slipping to the farther door she opened it 
cautiously, but the kitchen was deserted. “Have you any 
news for me about the matter which brought you here?” 

“Not yet, Miss Drake,” he replied. “My colleague will 
be here early tomorrow morning, however, and he can help 
me in directions in which I am necessarily handicapped now . 
Has your father spoken to you of any plans he may have 
made for the immediate future?” 

“ ‘Plans?’ ” she repeated, and her eyes widened. “For 
me, you mean? How could you have guessed? He did 
ask me the other night how I would like to go abroad for 
a while and when I inquired if he meant with Aunt Jerusha 
he said ‘no,’ and that I was not to speak to her of his sug- 
gestion. Of course I would not think of going away now.” 

“Did he mean for you to travel alone?” pursued Miles. 
“Was nothing more definite said?” 

“Only that he thought I had not been looking well and 
that the change would do me good.” She hesitated. “He 
spoke of something else, though; my engagement to Mr. 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 121 


Kemp, from whom you brought me that letter on Tuesday. 
No formal announcement has been made but it was an un- 
derstood thing between us and now Aunt Jerusha thinks 
that his people will want to break it off because of all this 
horrible gossip about us and she has persuaded father to 
forbid him the house, so that they will not have an oppor- 
tunity to express their disapproval. It was really that 
which drove me to consult Mr. Wells. Neither father nor 
Aunt Jerusha will give me any reason except that Dickie — 
Mr. Kemp — and I are both Too young’ but I know it is 
because of what father himself has helped to bring upon us! 
He said that I must put all idea of an engagement out of my 
mind for a long while yet and that a sea voyage and new 
surroundings would be the best thing for me, but he did not 
mention with whom he had planned to send me away.” 

“He did not give you the impression, then, that he might 
go himself?’ Miles asked after a pause. 

“He? Why, father simply couldn’t live without the 
stock ticker at his elbow! He has only taken one vacation 
9jnce I can remember and then he came back in three days; 
the thought that he couldn’t keep in touch with the market 
was just driving him crazy!” She spoke in unfeigned sur- 
prise but checked herself with a little shudder at the last 
word and added in a voice that was lower still: “Sergeant — 
er — William four days have gone since the last strange 
thing happened; when Uncle Andrew was found behaving 
so oddly in the drawing-room, I mean. I can’t help feeling 
that the next outbreak must come soon and I find myself 
waiting for it hour by hour — dreading it, yet waiting! It is 
intolerable! Do you think that it will be my father or one 
of my uncles?” 

“There may be no next time,” he replied evasively. 


122 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


‘‘Don’t worry, or anticipate further trouble before it 
comes, for it may be that we shall be able to avert it entirely. 
By the way, did you see Mr. Andrew Drake on Monday 
morning when the houseman came upon him?” 

“No. It was very early, you know, but Edward rushed 
upstairs for Carter and made such a scene that we were all 
awakened and father and Uncle Roger hurried down before 
Carter was sufficiently aroused to understand what the 
commotion was all about. They found Uncle Andrew 
crouching in a chair, staring at the ornaments which lit- 
tered the floor as though he had never seen them before; 
at least that is what they said afterward. I had followed 
them down but I was not close enough to look into the room 
although I distinctly heard Uncle Andrew say when he 
looked up and found them there: ‘Well, the family jinx has 
me in its clutches, too, you see!’ He tried to laugh but his 
voice was shaking and just then Aunt Jerusha called to me 
to come back to my room. Father heard her, and came to 
the drawing-room door and ordered me upstairs, too, and 
I had to obey, but I listened for every sound that I could 
hear. There was nothing for the longest while but a low 
rumble of voices — they had ordered Carter away when he 
appeared and Edward was already packing his things — 
then Uncle Andrew cried out* ‘But what’s the use? Sooner 

or later !’ Father interrupted him and said: ‘You 

must!’ 

“Their voices lowered again after that and finally they 
all three came upstairs. Uncle Andrew’s face was very red 
and his mouth twitching, and when he had gone into his 
room and locked the door I heard queer, dreadful sounds 
like harsh, dry sobs coming from behind it. He came down 
to breakfast, though, and apologized to Aunt Jerusha and 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 123 


me; he said he must have been walking in his sleep, that he 
had dreamed he was a little boy once more and forbidden to 
play in the parlor, and he was sorry he had made such a 
fool of himself. That’s all, Ser — William, but it was 
enough for me and I slipped out and caught the first train 
for town to see Mr. Wells after my row with Aunt Jerusha 
when I suggested that we call in an alienist. Oh, what will 
happen next?” 

“Nothing, I hope ” Miles began soothingly, but 

Patricia interrupted. 

“But it will! I know it, I feel it! It is like a dreadful 
cloud hanging over us that intensifies every hour!” Abruptly 
she caught herself up in a tense, listening attitude. “I 
thought I heard Aunt Jerusha! I must go! Oh, Sergeant 
Miles, find out what it is that possesses my father and my 
uncles to cause them to do such crazy things before — 
before worse comes!” 

She slipped away without waiting for his reply, and 
indeed he had none to offer. Although he had learned much 
since his arrival it had all been of such a bewildering unre- 
lated nature, like the swift-moving events in a vivid but 
disjointed dream, that he found himself no nearer a solution 
of the problem than when he had undertaken the case. 

The dreary day drew to a close and the evening passed 
uneventfully . The detective kept his vigil as usual but the 
quiet of the house was undisturbed by sound or movement 
and at length he went to bed. 

When he awakened the sun shone brightly in at his 
window and a solitary robin was hopping jauntily about on 
the lawn. Recalling the imminent arrival of Scottie, 
Miles dressed hastily and descended to clean the lower 
rooms, from the windows of which he could keep an eye on 


124 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


the gate and driveway. Breakfast time came, however, and 
the family were finishing their meal when the rumble of a 
well-known voice sounded from the kitchen and Pierre 
poked his head in the pantry door to announce: 

“ Ze new gardenaire, he ees arrive. You weel tell Mees 
Drake? He say that he ees a friend of yours/’ 

“Jack Galloway? You bet he is!” Miles responded 
heartily. “We’ve worked at the same place before. I’ll 
let Miss Drake know that he is here right away.” 

He delivered the message to the mistress of the house 
as she arose from the table and a minute later hurried to 
the kitchen. 

“Hello, Jack!” He grinned as he advanced toward the 
newcomer with outstretched hand, for the absence of the 
grizzled, sandy beard had wrought a vast change and it 
was the old Scottie of the police department who smiled 
broadly back at him. “Didn’t think we’d be working 
together again so soon!” 

The remark was intended for Pierre’s benefit, but 
Scottie’s eyes twinkled at its ambiguity. 

“How are you, lad?” he responded. “There s no telling 
who we’ll be running into from one job to the next but I’m 
glad to see you.” 

“I’ll take you to Miss Drake ” Miles led the way to 

the hall and when the kitchen door had closed behind them 
he added in a hasty whisper: “Study her, Scottie, and see 
what you can make of her, for she’s in on this, too! What- 
ever it may be that is affecting the men of the family, she 
is sharing it!” 

“When ?” Scottie began. 

“Wednesday night, here in the house. No one knows 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 125 


but me and I’ll tell you about it later. Come on, she’s 
waiting in the library.” 

The new gardener evidently acquitted himself well in 
his interview with Miss Drake, for in a short time Miles 
observed her from an upper window showing him about the 
grounds and later Andrew joined them. While they stood 
talking together Enslee Grayle’s tall, spare figure emerged 
from his house next door and advanced quickly toward 
them, but he paused all at once and seemed to be appraising 
Scot tie before disclosing his presence. Then he strode 
forward and pressed his way through a gap in the hedge, 
bowing to Miss Drake as he came. 

In a few moments she left the three men together and 
returned to the house. Miles perforce deserted his point of 
vantage to continue his duties and no opportunity presented 
itself for him to speak to Scottie again before lunch. Once 
during the morning the telephone rang and he heard Miss 
Drake’s voice in reply, but the words were indistinguishable 
and the incident had passed from his mind when later as he 
served the midday meal she announced: 

“Ora Hawks has returned from her trip to California.” 

For a moment there was silence while Andrew ate un- 
concernedly on. Patricia was staring out of the window as 
though she had not heard, but it appeared to Miles that 
Roger was almost furtively regarding his brother. Finally 
he asked, with an embarrassed cough: 

“You will call, Andrew, no doubt?” 

“Why should I?” The other looked up coolly and then 
added with a short laugh, “I had almost forgotten her 
existence. Has she changed much?” 

“Not in appearance; a little stouter, perhaps,” Miss 
Drake answered hastily with a slight frown. “She is coming 


126 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


for tea this afternoon, so you will be able to judge for 
yourself.” 

Andrew seemed a trifle disturbed and he moved uneasily 
in his chair. 

“But what is*she like now? Funny we haven’t spoken of 
her before, isn’t it? Now that I think of it, you mentioned 
her in one of your letters three or four years ago, didn’t 
you?” 

“When she took charge of the women’s campaign for civic 
betterment.” Miss Drake nodded. “For a few years after 
you left for Australia Ora was as shy and retiring as ever, 
but gradually she began to take an interest in public affairs 
and now she has quite a local influence on politics. She has 
developed a really strong character.” 

4 ‘She is always trying to force women into office . ’ ’ Patricia 
took a sudden interest in the conversation. “I wonder why 
she detests men so much?” 

Roger coughed again and Miss Drake observed: 

“Patricia, my dear, your cup is tilted. — Have you com- 
pleted the plan of the garden, Andrew?” 

“No, I am going to work out there this afternoon with 
Jack. I like that fellow; he knows his business.” He 
paused and added: “But tell me more about Ora before 
she comes. Remember I have been a long time away, so 
prepare me for the worst! I swear I wouldn’t know her if 
I fell over her!” 

“Andrew, I beg that you will not be flippant!” his sister 
exclaimed reprovingly. “You really behaved rather badly, 
you know, although the whole affair was a mistake, of 
course, from the beginning. Ora is no longer a sentimental, 
impressionable girl but a woman who has found herself and 


JACK GALLOWAY, GARDENER 127 


you need be apprehensive of no — er — allusion to the past, 
I am sure.” 

‘Til take good care that there is no opportunity for one!” 
Andrew promised as they rose. “No one cares to be re- 
minded of the mistakes of earlier days, eh, Roger?” 

The scientist flinched and his sensitive, high-bred face 
darkened as he followed the others from the room. Miles, 
who had listened to the latter and more personal part of 
the talk from the pantry, wondered, as he re-entered to 
clear the table, what this fresh complication might bring 
forth. Who was Ora Hawks, how serious had been the 
implied affair between her and Andrew and what of the 
other woman, Maizie? 

It was late afternoon when, in answer to the summons of 
the doorbell, he admitted the expected visitor. She was a 
stout, severely gowned woman of middle age with graying 
hair slicked back tightly beneath a small, stiff hat and a 
pair of shell-rimmed glasses athwart the bridge of an in- 
quiring nose. 

“My dear Ora! It is indeed a pleasure to welcome your 
return!” Miss Drake greeted her with a cool kiss on her 
cheek and turned to Miles. “William, call Miss Patricia, 
please, and Mr. Roger. I think you will find Mr. Andrew 
in the garden.” 

Miles proceeded upstairs first to deliver his messages and 
then left the house by the kitchen door. Scottie and 
Andrew were standing deep in consultation over by the 
summerhouse and he had started toward them when he saw 
the Visitor descending the steps of the side veranda. The 
detective stopped in order that she might precede him and 
he noted that the smile upon her face was somewhat grim 


128 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


as she advanced. Following slowly until he was within 
earshot he heard her greeting. 

“How do you do, Andrew? Am I the last of your old 
friends ?” 

“Ora!” Andrew Drake had wheeled with her first word 
and held out his hand. Then he drew it back with an 
apologetic shrug for its begrimed state. He was coatless 
in the balmy spring sunshine and both shirtsleeves had been 
rolled to the elbow, but now he started hastily to pull them 
down. She noted the action and even from where he stood 
the detective could see the deep flush which mounted sud- 
denly in her fat, round face. 

“Andrew!” Her nasal tones were oddly broken and con- 
fused. “You really recognized me, then? I am not so very 
much changed?” 

“How can you ask? I should have known you anywhere 
in the world!” he returned with suspicious fervor. Then he 
added hurriedly: “I'll get cleaned up at once and come in 
for tea, and we can have a good talk.” 

4 ‘ I will wait for you . ’ ’ She turned and moved back slowly 
toward the house while Andrew stood as though rooted to 
the spot gazing after her. 

When she disappeared a single but eloquent comment 
from the man she had left reached Miles’ ears. 

“Damnation!” 


CHAPTER XI 


TWO MEETINGS 


/IT ten that evening Scottie was sitting in the summer- 
AA house wrapped in a weatherstained greatcoat, for 
■^“the air had turned chill with the coming of darkness. 
His disreputable pipe had gone out while he waited for 
Miles and he struck a match to relight it when all at once 
a head appeared over the rustic railing of the retreat and a 
youthful male voice stammered: 

“Oh! Thought it was someone else! — Excuse me.” He 
ducked but Scottie shot out a muscular arm and grasped 
his collar. Then as the match burned down he chuckled 
and his hand for an instant slipped to the intruder’s 
shoulder. He had recognized him as the young man who 
had driven away from the Kemp house in such an obvious 
temper two days before. 

“Mr. Kemp, I’m thinking! Did you expect to find a 
young lady out here smoking a pipe, sir?” 

“ 'A young lady?’ ” repeated Dick. “Look here, who 
are you?” 

“The new gardener.” Scottie knocked out his ashes on the 
129 


130 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


rail. “I know a wee bit about affairs though, sir, meaning 
no impertinence, and if I can be of any service ?” 

“ May be you can.” Dick vaulted over the railing and 
seated himself lightly upon it. ”1 suppose Miss Patricia 
must have told you — or was it the other new man who 
came here to work this week?” 

“If you’re speaking of William Brown, here he comes 
now.” Scottie evaded the question as a moving shadow 
resolved itself from the darkness into the figure of a man. 
“Is it you, William?” 

Miles, warned by the tone as much as by the form of 
address responded promptly: 

“Hello, Jack. I’ve been looking for you but I thought 
you had gone to bed.” 

“Come in,” Scottie invited. “There’s a young gentleman 
here ” 

“You drove the Drakes’ car to the station on Monday; 
I recognize your voice.” Dick broke in. “I met you and 
gave you a note on the way home. Did you deliver it?” 

“It’s Mr. Kemp? Yes, sir; but the young lady hasn’t 
found it convenient — her aunt, sir, you’ll understand.” 
Miles coughed. “Miss Patricia isn’t allowed out of sight.” 

“I know it, William, — is that your name? — but she 
simply must manage it somehow. I’ve got to see her, it’s 
something important; something she doesn’t know about!” 
The young man’s voice rang with earnestness. “They 
can’t have gone to bed yet, the lower floor is still lighted up.” 

“No, sir; only Mr. Roger. Miss Drake is reading in the 
drawing-room, Mr. Andrew has gone out and Mr. Hobart 
is looking over some papers in the library. Miss Patricia 
is playing the piano all to herself in the music room.” 

“Good!” Think you can get to her with a message? You 


TWO MEETINGS 


131 


ought to be able to put it over if you look sharp before she 
stops playing, and I’ll make it well worth your while.” 

He was reaching for his pocket when Miles stopped him. 

“Never mind about that part of it, sir. I would do it for 
Miss Patricia, anyway. I think I could slip around to the 
other side of the house and let myself in by one of the 
French windows that I haven’t locked yet for the night if 
she won’t be frightened and scream !” 

“Miss Patricia isn’t the screaming kind!” Dick inter- 
rupted. “Tell her to pretend to retire when the rest of the 
family do and then when she thinks her aunt is asleep, to 
slip down the back way and out by the kitchen door. I’ll 
be waiting there for her if Rip Lunt isn’t about ” 

“He won’t be, you may rest easy, sir, on that score. He’s 
in his room over the garage, dead to the world, with a square 
bottle beside him that fair reeks of juniper,” Scottie inter- 
jected, without adding that he had himself supplied the 
illicit concoction supplemented by a harmless drug which 
would guarantee Rip’s slumber in order that his own con- 
ference with Miles in the garden might be undisturbed. 

“Then go quickly, William! Tell her I will wait till 
dawn if necessary, but I must see her!” Dick urged. 

Miles needed no second bidding but nodded and turning 
started off around the house. The tall French windows of 
the music-room were uncurtained and the detective hesi- 
tated for a moment gazing in upon the young girl seated at 
the piano. Then he tapped softly but insistently on the 
glass. 

Patricia looked up and paused with her hands poised 
above the key-board. Her glance swept the row of windows 
until she descried his face when she rose slowly and advanced 
a hesitant step or two. Miles beckoned reassuringly and 


132 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


recognizing him all at once she smiled and flew to let him in. 

“Oh, what is it?” she whispered, with an apprehensive 
glance over her shoulder. “Be quick! If my aunt comes !” 

“Play!” he commanded in an undertone. “Keep on 
playing, don’t stop! I have a message for you.” 

“Patricia, my dear!” Miss Drake’s dominant tones 
sounded from the drawing-room. “You didn’t finish the 
Taran telle.” 

“I’m sick of it!” the young girl called back and darting 
to the piano again she began to ruffle the loose sheets of 
music violently. “I’m trying to find the Berceuse — here 
it is.” 

Seating herself, her hands touched the keyboard once 
more, and the soft, crooning notes of a cradle song floated 
out through the high-ceilinged room as the detective bent 
hastily over her and delivered his message. 

“You’ll see that the kitchen door is unfastened and keep 
watch while I am out to give me warning if Aunt Jerusha 
should go to my room and find me gone?” she whispered. 
“It’s risky, I know, but Dick doesn’t dream who you are or 
why you are here.” 

“And he must not, unless I find it necessary to tell him 
myself,” Miles reminded her. “That was a part of our 
bargain.” 

Patricia nodded and played a trifle louder as he turned 
and made his way out through the window. When he 
reached the summer house once more Dick Kemp asked 
eagerly: 

“Did you reach her? Will she meet me?” 

“Yes. I must get back to the house now to lock up after 
they go to bed,” Miles replied. “Then I am going to let 
Miss Patricia out the kitchen door when she comes down 


TWO MEETINGS 


183 


again and keep watch for her until her return. When you 
see the lights go out on the lower floor wait twenty minutes 
at least and then go to the back porch. — I’ll come out later 
for a smoke with you, Jack, if you’re here.” 

It was half an hour, however, before the lights were 
extinguished and Scottie had much ado to keep the wildly 
anxious young man with him for a discreet length of time 
until the older members of the household, at least, could 
be supposed to have settled themselves for the night. 

After his departure Scottie smoked placidly on, huddled 
in his greatcoat, and awaited the return of his colleague, 
but it was nearly midnight before Miles reappeared and 
then he was laughing softly. 

“That’s one on you, Scottie, old man!” he exclaimed as 
he seated himself beside the other and lighted a cigarette, 
carefully cupping it in his hand. “Our little client met 
young Kemp all right and what do you think the big news 
was that he had to tell her? His father spotted you at the 
country club!” 

“The devil he did!” Scottie retorted, recalling all at once 
the shrewd glitter in Martin Kemp’s fishy eyes and the 
subtle note of sarcasm in his voice when he called him ‘the 
Laird.’ "I’d never laid eyes on the man before and I’m no 
celebrity that he should know my face! Why, I’ve been a 
back number so long that half the boys at Headquarters 
have forgotten me! Where could he have seen me except 
at a murder trial and what would he be doing there?” 

“As a spectator.” Miles was still grinning in the darkness, 
for it was seldom that anyone got a rise out of the phleg- 
matic Scotchman. “It seems that he is a particular friend 
of Judge Dumont who presided at the Harmon trial and a 
couple of others in which you played a star part on the 


134 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


witness stand, and he attended them at the Judge’s in- 
vitation. He knew you at once in spite of your beard, and 
after your departure he made a few remarks in the presence 
of some old he-gossip named Greer about an impostor 
having been introduced into the club by Edgerley Flint 
and that impostor being a Headquarters detective, at that. 
Greer started the ball rolling and there is the prettiest little 
tempest in a teapot on that you could imagine! Kemp told 
his son that all during your visit, although you did not 
appear to lead the conversation in any way, the sole topic 
was the Drake family and he has drawn his own inference.” 

“I’d like well to know what it is,” observed Scottie. 
“What crime does he think the Drakes are suspected of 
committing?” 

“I don’t believe he went as far as that in his deductions, 
but you know that police notoriety is like a yellow fever 
sign to most people and I gather that he gave his son rather 
strict orders to keep away from here, which naturally sent 
the boy straight to little Miss Patricia. She told me this 
just now after her interview with him and I explained that 
you were the club guest acting under instructions from me, 
which considerably relieved her mind. — But that wasn’t all 
young Kemp’s news. Hobart Drake has closed out all his 
holdings on the market and it has caused a slump that hit 
hard in some quarters. The question of his sanity was 
openly discussed after the Exchange closed today and the 
staunchest of his friends could only hint about a nervous 
breakdown. You know what that means.” 

“It’s just confirmation of what I told you Wednesday 
night, lad,” Scottie added with a brisk change of tone. 
“But let’s get down to cases. What’s this about Miss 
Jerusha Drake running amuck too?” 


TWO MEETINGS 


135 


“It happened just after you left me that night.” Miles 
told of the scene in the drawing-room and Miss Jerusha’s 
strange words, with the aftermath of the mysterious removal 
of the ashes, and the other heard him out in silence. 

“You’re sure she expressed herself just that way, Owen?” 
he asked when Miles had finished. “That They’ had been 
destroyed and the horror would not have come if the first 
of Them’ had never been conceived? Doesn’t sound much 
like a reference to old love letters, as you seem to think.” 

“But what else could she have burned, family documents 
which had been faked in some way to gain them that in- 
heritance?” demanded Miles. “I considered that too, but 
it wouldn’t account for their strange antics now any more 
than the love-letter theory. It is ridiculous to entertain the 
idea that they are a whole family of lunatics, but what else 
is left for us? I confess frankly, Scottie, that I am up a 
tree!” 

“Miss Jerusha said too that the fumes of what she had 
burned breathed poison.” Scottie spoke as though to him- 
self after a brief pause. 

“Yes, and I’m hanged if there didn’t seem to be a queer 
sort of odor in the room!” Miles laughed deprecatingly. 
“I’m not growing susceptible to mental suggestion of that 
kind, old man, but I could almost have sworn to it, faint 
though it was. What do you make of it?” 

“Nothing as yet, but if it was she who took away the 
ashes there was method in her madness,” averred the other. 
“I studied her today and although she was at high tension 
all right I should say off-hand that she had pretty cool 
control of her mental faculties. — What happened yester- 
day?” 


136 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


Miles told of the meeting with the woman calling herself 
“Maizie” and then added: 

“There’s another woman I’d overlooked as a possible 
source of information in the case but she is about as ap- 
proachable as a porcupine.” 

“You mean the stout dame who came out here to speak to 
Andrew this afternoon with a dour look to her and then 
changed all of a sudden?” Scottie asked. 

“So you noticed that too, eh? I gathered from the con- 
versation at lunch that there had been an affair of some 
sort between them and he had broken it off. — No, it’s the 
maid Mehitabel. She thinks I’m a simp, but you might try 
to get her talking; she is the one person who has been most 
intimately connected with the family since the days of their 
poverty, and I have an idea that she could tell you some 
interesting things if she chose.” 

Miles repeated some of the phrases in the letter which 
Hi tty had written to her brother and added: 

“I’d like to know what she meant about the family getting 
queer again as they were when they first came into money. 
If we can’t get her to talk one of us must get away to tackle 
that brother of hers in Freedale, for she reminded him that 
she had told him all about it. She is devoted to Miss 
Jerusha but it is evident that she has small use for Andrew. 
— I wonder where he is, by the way? Miss Jerusha told me 
to leave the front door open for him, as he hadn’t come 
in yet.” 

“He’s a curious example of what you’d call atavism, I 
suppose, though I’d say he was just a plain throwback to 
some ancestor of the buccaneering days,” Scottie remarked. 
“That old gossip Greer whom you mentioned a while ago 
said at the club that Andrew was always different from the 


TWO MEETINGS 


137 


rest of the family and that it was far more evident since his 
return. I supposed then that it must be the result of the 
rough life he’s led, but now that I’ve given him the once- 
over I've changed my mind; there’s an innately coarse 
streak in the man that must jar on the others and I’m 
surprised that he’s not been off roving again before this. 
He’s too young and active to settle down, and though it’s 
natural for him to want to come home to see his people he 
must have grown sick and tired of the staid, humdrum 
existence here, without a congenial spirit in the neighbor- 
hood. — What do you say if we stroll around the house and 
see that everything is quiet? It’s a wee bit shivery sitting 
still.” 

“What else did you learn at the club?” Miles asked as 
they left the summer house. “You spoke of a general family 
history the other night and what the neighbors thought of 
them, but you didn’t go into any details.” 

“I was just thinking it over,” Scottie responded. 
“Wouldn’t you take it that if a body had a turn of mind 
for anything especial, a talent or leaning toward a particular 
line, they’d go in for it when the money and opportunity 
came? These three brothers each had a different ambition 
when they were young but they never followed them up. 
Roger taught backward students who boarded here but he 
was crazy for chemistry. He dabbled with amateur photog- 
raphy, too, on the side, but forgot them both for stuffy 
old research work as soon as he could afford to take up a 
scientific career; Hobart was quite an artist in pen and ink 
from the time he was a child, yet all he thought of was the 
Wall Street game when he got his share of the fortune, 
while Andrew was interested in manufacturing — paper or 
wood pulp or some such thing — although the minute he 


138 


THE l TATTOOED ARM 


laid his hands on the money he beat it to Australia to raise 
sheep. Miss Jerusha didn’t change , because she never seems 
to have cared about anything except the family traditions. 
They’re an odd lot.” 

They had passed around to the other side of the house 
and were proceeding toward the gates, keeping well under 
the trees which were grouped about on the lawn when Miles 
remarked: 

1 ‘There’s a low light still going over at Grayle’s cottage; 
I wonder what keeps him up so late? He and Roger are on 
quite intimate terms, I understand, but aside from him and 
possibly this Ora Hawks who called today I haven’t heard 
of any real friends whom the Drakes have in the neighbor- 
hood.” 

“Their pride always stood in the way and I don’t believe 
they were ever what you might call popular, but people 
kowtowed to their own opinion of themselves until this 
scandal came up; now they’re mostly laughing in their 
sleeves. — Look!” Scottie seized Miles’ arm and his low 
voice sank to a husky whisper. “There, over the hedge! — 
Coming from the direction of the village. Who is it?” 

Two indistinct shadows were indeed moving along the 
walk which bordered the highroad but they paused before 
reaching the gates and appeared to be engaged in an argu- 
ment; for a man’s rough tones mingled with a shrill, higher 
voice like that of an angry boy. 

“Let’s get over the hedge. We can crawl up close to 
them if we are careful not to show ourselves or make a 
sound, and I have an idea I know that voice!” Miles whis- 
pered back. “Come on!” 

Crouching like Indians on the warpath they crept step 
by step along the inner side of the hedge until they were 


TWO MEETINGS 139 

within a few feet of the two who stood oblivious to their 
presence. 

“You’ll lose out if you do, I tell you!” the heavier mas- 
culine tones growled. “Didn’t I say I’d manage it some- 
how? What will you get out of it if you carry out your 
threat?” 

“A fairish bit o’ satisfaction, old dear!” The mocking 
voice w^ that of a woman, not a boy, and the accent was 
unmistakable. “Have it your own wye, though. I won’t 
go up to the house now and myke a row as I ’d half a mind 
to do, but I mean to get my bit out o’ wotever the gyme is, 
no fear!” 

“There’s no game, but I promised you a settlement, 
didn’t I, if you would only be a little patient? Let me take 
you back to your car now like a sensible girl and I’ll see 
you in town before the end of next week.” 

“Yon’s Andrew Drake, himself!” Scottie breathed, but 
the woman was speaking once more. 

“ ‘No gyme?’ Garn!” She laughed stridently. “I don’t 
care tuppenny wot it is, but I’m going to have my rights! — 
’Ow far back did we leave the blooming car?” 

They turned and moved back along the pathway in the 
direction from which they had come, and only when the 
sound of their footsteps had ceased in the distance did 
Scottie straighten with a grunt. 

“Two women, eh? Our friend Andrew had an unlucky 
day. I think I can guess who this one was, just now; the 
lady you met yesterday.” 

“Yes,” Miles replied. “It was Maizie.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


I T was Hobart Drake’s unbroken custom of years to 
return home immediately after the market closed at 
noon on Saturdays, but on the day following that of the 
arrival of the new gardener lunch time came and passed 
and he did not appear nor did any word come from him. 

Miss Drake was plainly worried, although she strove to 
keep her anxiety from communicating itself to her niece, 
and Roger offered nervous and futile suggestions as to the 
cause of his brother’s absence all during the meal, while 
Andrew, after an untimely jest or two on the same subject, 
departed, whistling, for one of his interminable walks. 

At the table in the servants’ dining-room Miles noted 
with some amusement, despite the seriousness of their task, 
that Scottie was actually making some headway with Hitty . 
He had adopted neither a paternal nor a sentimental atti- 
tude but drew her out on impersonal topics, agreeing with 
her and deferring to her opinions with a subtle flattery which 
brought a faint flush to her sallow cheek and made her 
bridle in unconscious imitation of her mistress. 

Carter, who had sufficiently recovered from his attack of 
140 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


141 


sciatica to resume the less active of his duties, remarked 
somewhat sourly after Scottie had betaken himself to his 
gardening and Hitty to her mistress: 

“I thought you said this Jack Galloway wasn’t over 
sociable, William? He’s talked till my head’s that dizzy 
I’m spinning, and Kitty’s fool enough to think he knows 
it all because he makes her believe she’s right!” 

“Are you jealous, mon vieux?” asked Pierre with a 
roguish twinkle. “I theenk eet ees that he geeves to her ze 
laugh, zis Jacques; he tease her, like ze great boy. Me, I 
like heem well, he ees clever and of a drollness. Hittee ees 
just a woman, and one sees now zat she might once have 
been young.” 

Carter sniffed. 

“I was here when she first come, more than twenty- five 
years ago and there wasn’t a finer lookin’ girl in these parts, 
for all she was a pig-headed fool! She could have married 
most any of the Brooklea boys, but she wouldn’t leave 
Miss Drake, and things wasn’t as easy then as they are 
now.” 

“That was before the family inherited all that money, 
wasn’t it?” Miles went on before the other could speak. 
“I’ve been hearing about it; kept a kind of a boarding-school 
for young men here, didn’t they?” 

“They did not!” Carter retorted with dignity. “Mr. 
Roger coached a few young gentlemen for college, but he 
was mostly interested in chemicals and we was all ready for 
him to be brought in blown to pieces any day!” 

“He didn’t experiment with them in the house, then?” 
Miles asked. 

“Lord, no! Miss Drake wouldn’t hear of it! He fitted 
up part of an old, tumbled-down cottage back there on the 


142 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


woodland tract into what he called a laboratory, and he 
used to mess with the stuff out there. It burned down, 
though, just before we sold the land. — There goes my bell!” 
Carter started up but fell back with a groan. “You’d 
better answer it, William, and you’ll have to serve tea later 
for the sciatica is startin’ up again! Maybe it’s Mr. Hobart 
home and wanting lunch.” 

But the summons had come from Miss Jerusha, who 
gave directions about a trivial household matter, and 
the afternoon faded to twilight with still no sign from the 
financier. 

Andrew returned in boisterous good-humor from his walk 
and joined Miss Drake, Roger and Patricia in the library 
for tea. 

“Oh, I cannot imagine whatever may have happened to 
father!” The young girl put down her cup untasted and for 
an instant her troubled eyes caught the inscrutable ones of 
the detective. “He hasn’t done this since I can remember, 
and without any word, too !” 

“Don’t be absurd, my dear.” Miss Jerusha sjfoke chid- 
ingly but her own voice trembled. “Your father has been 
detained, that is all. Drink your tea before it cools.” 

“I don’t want it!” Patricia cried. “Uncle Roger, can’t 
you do something? What if father is — is ill !” 

“In that case we would have been notified, I am sure, 
child.” But Roger too put aside his cup and moved ner- 
vously over to the window. 

“What utter rot!” Andrew reached for another muffin. 
“You people stick around the house too much, get to 
worrying over nothing. — I never was gone on tea, but this 
is a little bit of all right after a tramp over these roads. 
Another cup, please, Jerry.” 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


143 


“I do wish, my dear Andrew, that you wouldn’t use 

those dreadful Australian expressions !” Miss Drake 

was beginning as she complied, when an exclamation of 
relief came from Roger. 

4 ‘There is a station taxi coming down the road and — yes, 
Hobart is inside! I will go and let him in myself!” 

“William, fill the kettle, if you please, and bring some 
fresh muffins.” If Miss Drake too felt the lifting of the 
strain she did not betray it, but her voice had steadied. 
“After you bring them you need not wait; I will ring when 
I want you to remove the tray.” 

To Miles’ exasperation he was obliged to wait until the 
muffins were browned to the state of perfection before which 
Pierre would not permit them to leave his hands, and when 
he reached the library door once more the measured tones 
of Hobart Drake came distinctly to his ears. 

“ sorry, but there were many details to attend to in 

settling up my affairs.” 

“ ‘Settling up?’ ” It was Andrew, and the devil-may-care 
note had vanished from his voice. “For the week, you 
mean? Anyone would think you were going to retire !” 

“I have,” Hobart responded quietly. “I am no longer a 
member of the Stock Exchange.” 

“Hobart!” gasped Miss Drake. 

“You mean that? Why didn’t you take us into your 
confidence ?” Roger began but Andrew exploded vio- 

lently: 

“Of all the damned fools! First Roger and then you, both 
of you lying down and taking it! By God, I thought there 
was more fighting blood in the family than that! You’re 
afraid !” 

“I am afraid, Andrew.” Hobart’s tone was still quiet, 


144 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


yet to the listening detective there was now an ominous 
quality in it. “But the only person I am afraid of is myself. 
I have placed it beyond my own power to harm myself or 
others.” 

Retreating a few steps Miles walked briskly forward and 
after knocking on the door, entered. Hobart stood upon 
the hearth, his portly figure drawn up to its full height, 
with Andrew facing him furiously and the rest sitting as 
though stunned. 

“Give me the kettle, William, and place the mufhns 
here.” Miss Drake was the first to recover herself . “Thank 
you. I will ring if I need anything more.” 

Miles complied and withdrew, reversing his procedure of 
a moment before by walking heavily away and then tip- 
toeing back. 

“You have considered this step carefully, Hobart?” 
Roger asked shakily. 

“But father, what do you mean?” It was Patricia’s 
voice rising hysterically. “Why should you be afraid of 
yourself?” 

“Only that I find, Pat, my judgment is not as good as it 
used to be. I have made several bad investments lately 
and there are trust funds in my care, you know. I do not 
want the responsibility.” He spoke as though measuring 
each word. “I am tired, my dear. We have all the money 
we shall ever need, and the game isn’t worth it. I — I am 
going to rest.” 

“That’s piffle! You are just in your prime, at the peak 
of your career!” There was an urgent, almost bullying note 
in Andrew’s harsh tones. “You couldn’t have wound every- 
thing up so quickly; you can be reinstated and you 
must !” 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


145 


“ ‘Must?’ ” the other caught up the word. “Let me 
remind you that this is solely my affair, Andrew. Why 
should you be so concerned about it? We each have our 
own lives to lead as seems best to us and my decision is final . 
I have closed out my holdings, my resignation is before the 
Board and I have made other disposition of my property .” 

“Oh, you have, have you!” Andrew’s voice rose in a 
snarl. “You are going to rest, are you, going to sit back 
while we ?” 

“Patricia, my dear, we will leave your father and your 
uncles to talk by themselves,” Miss Drake interrupted 
smoothly but dominantly. “Andrew, you are really going 
too far. Hobart might have told us of his intention, but 
after all it is, as he says, his own affair. Why should he 
not retire from business when he pleases? — Come, child.” 

Miles had only time to conceal himself behind the curtains 
of the drawing-room across the hall when the door opened 
and Miss Drake came out, followed by her niece. The older 
woman was pale but there was a light in her eyes that was 
almost triumphant and she held her slender body proudly 
erect. Patricia appeared dazed and all but overwhelmed. 

They passed up the stairway, but before the detective 
dared emerge from his hiding-place the door opposite was 
flung violently open once more and Andrew rushed out, 
slamming it after him, his face purple and distorted with 
rage so that it was scarcely recognizable. Snatching his 
coat and hat from the chair on which he had left them he 
dashed out the front door. 

After a few moments of tense waiting Miles crept across 
the hall, but the voices of Roger and Hobart had sunk to a 
low, steady murmur and he could not distinguish a word. 
Fearful lest at any moment he should be discovered, for 


146 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


the library was just at the foot of the stairs, he gave it up 
at last and retreated to the pantry so that he should be 
within call. It was well that he did so, for in a short space 
of time Patricia stole down to him. 

“You heard?” she whispered. “You know?” 

“I have anticipated this for some days, Miss Drake,” 
he responded. “I might have prepared you for it but I was 
not certain when your father would take the final step.” 

“Oh, I remember!” The young girl passed her hand 
across her brow. “You asked if he had spoken of any 
definite plans for the future. I don’t see how you knew, 
but what does he mean? Surely he is not afraid to trust 
his judgment any more, as he pretended just now, afraid 
that he will ruin himself and — and others? Why has he 
given up the one thing he lived for?” 

“That I cannot tell you now, but it will be necessary for 
me to run in to town at the earliest possible moment. How 
soon do you think I might ask your aunt for a holiday?” 

“Why, tomorrow is your regular day off duty ” She 

raised her eyes questioningly to his. “Did you hear my 
uncle Andrew? He was in a frightful temper, worse than 
I have ever seen him! I wish I could understand! I feel 
that something terrible is going to happen !” 

“Your aunt is calling you!” Miles interrupted hurriedly. 
“Do not let her see how agitated you are or she may watch 
you more closely. We will do all that we can.” 

Andrew did not return for dinner, and shortly afterward 
the rest of the family scattered to their own rooms as though 
mutually averse to further talk. It was still comparatively 
early when Miles was free to join Scottie at their rendezvous 
but their discussion of the situation brought no fresh light 
to bear upon it. 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


147 


* ‘There’s only one new angle to consider,” Scottie re- 
marked at last. “That is Andrew’s attitude in the matter. 
He’s not thinking of the fresh gossip this move will spread, 
for the notoriety which has come already hasn’t affected 
his blunt sensibilities. It may be that he has made a good 
bit of money through Hobart’s inside tips on the market 
and doesn’t want to lose the graft, but that attorney John 
Wells would know.” 

“Tomorrow is my day off and I am going to run into town 
to see him,” announced Miles. “Keep up the good work 
with Hi tty; I am convinced more and more that the key to 
our problem lies in the past but how far back is the question. 
You sleep downstairs in that wing off the kitchen, don’t 
you? I won’t return until some time in the evening, but be 
in your room early and I’ll come to you as soon as the 
house is quiet. You won’t be working on Sunday, so stick 
around indoors as much as you can and don’t let anything 
get by you.” 

“I’m not likely to show myself outside any more than I 
have to, especially near the road,” Scottie remarked grimly. 
“Martin Kemp might not have been sure he spotted me at 
the club but he will be dead certain if he catches sight of 
me without my whiskers. — What was that?” 

“What?” Miles stared out between the rustic posts of 
the summer house into the darkness. “I didn’t see any- 
thing.” 

“I thought a light winked twice down there by the gate; 
just a speck, not big enough for a lantern. If it was summer 
I’d say there were fireflies about.” 

“Let’s have a look.” The younger man started to his 
feet. “It may have been Andrew stopping to light a final 
pipe before he turns in but we had better make sure.” 


148 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


They crept around the house and skirted the hedge as 
they had on the previous evening but on this occasion there 
was neither sight nor sound of anyone and they were return- 
ing to the summer house when a sudden movement behind 
a tree brought them to a halt. 

‘‘I — I ain’t gwine to fiah no gun!” A tremulous voice 
spoke out of the darkness. “Pass right ’long ’bout your 
bus’ness, whoever you is, an’ don’t come ’sturbin’ de folks 
here !” 

“Rip!” Miles exclaimed. “It is only the gardener and 
me. You’re some watchman!” 

“Lordy!” Rip advanced and added sheepishly: “I wasn’t 
skeered but I didn’t ’spission it was you! I thought it was 
dem two again!” 

“What two?” demanded Scottie. 

“Dunno,” Rip mumbled, evidently sorry that he had 
spoken so quickly. “Two fellers come through here de 
yother night — I disremember when ’twas, eggsactly — an’ 
I ordehs dem away an’ says de nex’ time dey comeback 
I’se gwine to shoot. Dat’s what make me say like I does 
just now.” 

“Did you flash your lantern on them? What did they 
look like?” Miles took up the interrogation. 

“Lantern wasn’t wo’kin’ right, dat’s how come I ain’t 
brung it out tonight.” Rip shuffled one foot. “Couldn’t 
see deir faces no way, but one o’ dem carried somethin’ 
oveh his shoulder, dunno what ’twas. Dey didn’t wait for 
no back talk but jus’ beat it!” 

“Which way did they go? Did you follow them?” 

“Who, — me?” Naive astonishment at the question filled 
Rip’s tones. “I wasn’t cravin’ to meet up with dem in de 
first place an’ I didn’t want no more o’ deir sassiety; didn’t 


THE EMPTY ROOM 


149 


keer whichaway dey went so long as ’twas somew’eres else 
an’ dey kep’ a-gwine! I done tole you, Willyum, de first 
night you come dat dey was more dan tramps an’ thieves 
sashayin’ ’round, but dese two wasn’t no spirits, ’countin’ 
one o’ dem cuss too fluent an’ free. You-all ain’t gwine in?” 

His tone was wistful, but it was evident that if they 
remained outdoors he would attach himself to them until 
midnight and there were still a few minor details of the 
morrow to be settled between them. 

Having concluded these in Scottie’s room, Miles locked 
up the house and retired. The family breakfasted late on 
Sunday and Carter was well enough to serve them, but he 
came out to the detective who was helping in the pantry 
and asked: 

* ‘William, will you go up to Miss Patricia’s door and tell 
her the folks are waiting for her? Miss Drake says she 
knocked but not getting any answer thought the young 
lady had already come down. Them stairs are cruel hard 
on my back.” 

Miles hurriedly ascended and knocked upon Patricia’s 
door but no reply came to him and after repeating the sum- 
mons again and again he ventured to turn the knob. The 
door swung inward, revealing an empty room, the bed 
smooth and untouched. Lying in a heap across a chair, 
where it had been carelessly flung, was the gown which 
Patricia had worn the night before. She was gone! 


CHAPTER XIII 

DIVIDED TRAILS 

M ILES did not announce his discovery to Carter but 
proceeded straight to the dining-room; he must 
see for himself what reaction the first shock of 
the news would bring to the family. 

“If you please, Miss Drake, Carter asked me to go up 
instead of him and tell Miss Patricia that you were waiting 
for her. I did and knocked over and over, but I didn’t get 
any answer.” 

“What is this?” Hobart glanced up sharply. 

“I will go !” Miss Drake half rose from her chair. 

“She’s not there, ma’am,” the detective said quietly. 
“Not — not there?” The woman’s lips barely formed the 
words and a muttered oath came from Andrew, but Roger 
only stared, while the faint color ebbed from his thin face, 
leaving it waxen. 

“No, ma’am. I opened the door at last and saw that the 
bed hadn’t been slept in.” 

“Patricia! My God, not that! Not that last blow!” 
Hobart started up as Miss Drake sank back and Andrew 
cried out furiously: 


150 


DIVIDED TRAILS 151 

“You see what you've done? You brought it on your- 
self !” 

“Andrew!" The gentle Roger's tone was suddenly stern. 
“You need not add your recriminations to the situation. 
Patricia is Hobart’s daughter, not yours!" 

“I must know! I must see for myself!" Miss Drake 
rose swaying slightly and left the room. 

“It's that young rascal Dick Kemp!" Hobart exclaimed. 
“I told Jerusha it was a mistake to keep too tight a rein on 
the girl at this time but she overruled me. I'll get that 
father of his on the phone !" 

“And have the news that Patricia has disappeared spread 
about like wildfire in an hour?" Roger interrupted. “Wait 
until Jerusha returns, at least, Hobart; the child may have 
left a note that will explain her absence. — You may go, 
William. Tell Carter we will ring if we need him." 

The detective had been ostensibly busying himself at the 
serving table in the corner but now he was compelled to 
retire to the pantry where Carter confronted him, goggle- 
eyed with excitement. 

“I heard!" he exclaimed. “You’re sure she's gone, 
William? You couldn’t have been mistaken?" 

“Didn’t I say the bed hadn’t been slept in?" Miles re- 
turned. “Where are you going?" 

“To tell Hitty," Carter called back over his shoulder. 
“She’ll be struck all of a heap!" 

With surprising agility, considering his ailment, he darted 
through the farther door and to the back stairs, while the 
detective followed him as far as the hall in time to see Miss 
Drake cross from the foot of the main staircase to the 
dining-room once more. Then he returned to the pantry 


152 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


and with a spoon handle wedged the swinging door slightly 
ajar. 

“No, Hobart.” Miss Drake was evidently replying to 
a question. “There is no note, no clue as to where she may 
have gone, but her new spring suit and furs are not in the 
closet, and she has taken her traveling-case with her. I 
cannot understand, for deception is utterly foreign to 
Patricia’s nature, yet this flight must have been pre- 
meditated and carefully arranged. — Oh, why did I not 
guard her more closely?” 

“Hobart thinks it is because you did that she has taken 
matters into her own hands,” Andrew remarked. “We are 
not living back in the Victorian age, you know, Jerry, when 
a girl will sit down meekly and allow a love affair to be 
broken off for her without explanation.” 

Miles peeped through the crack in the door and saw 
Miss Drake draw herself up with tightened lips. 

“Her father agreed with me that it was best, and Patricia 
has always obeyed us implicitly. I can think of no motive 
which would have impelled her to leave home ” 

“She must be traced and brought back and there is not 
a moment to be lost!” Hobart had regained control of 
himself and his tones rang with decision. “First I mean 
to find out if Dick Kemp knows anything of this and if he 
doesn’t there is only one step to be taken.” 

“You mean the — the police?” Roger asked slowly. 

“Don’t be an ass!” Andrew turned upon him. “The girl 
is safe enough wherever she is and Hobart’s got too much 
sense ” 

“I mean to take any and every means to find my daughter, 
Andrew!” Hobart interrupted doggedly. “Don’t make any 
mistake about that!” 


DIVIDED TRAILS 


153 


“And I am with you, old fellow.” Roger pushed back 
his chair. “Her safety comes before our personal feelings, 
whatever happens. You have only to command me, 
Hobart.” 

“I knew you’d stand by, Roger!” His brother’s voice 
broke, then he added more firmly: “Now I’m going to 
have it out with Dick Kemp!” 

“Can we not discover if he has seen Patricia without 
informing him of her disappearance, in the event that he is 
ignorant of it?” Miss Drake stayed him. 

“If he is, she has probably gone to some friend and means 
to communicate with him later,” Andrew suggested sullenly. 
“Who are her girl chums, anyway? You never invite them 
here to visit her.” 

“Most of them have been at boarding-school since your 
return.” Miss Drake spoke frigidly. “Patricia herself only 
finished last year, you know. We give several house parties 
for her during the summer. — Hobart, what are you going 
to do?” 

“Send a note over to Dick to come here at once. If he 
is not at home and hasn’t been since last night we will know 
what to expect. I won’t state why I want to see him but 
I’ll word it in a way that will bring him without loss of 
time. Jerusha, send that new man William to me in the 
library at once; Carter isn’t able to go and I wouldn’t trust 
Rip with it.” Hobart added as Miles hastily withdrew the 
wedge from th$ door: “I suppose all the servants know, 
by this time, but they must be cautioned not to talk.” 

He left the room and the pantry bell rang. 

“Carter, will you ask William ? Oh, it is you.” 

Miss Drake paused. 


154 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Yes, ma’am. Carter has gone upstairs,” Miles replied 
truthfully enough. 

“Will you go to Mr. Hobart in the library, please? You 
may leave the table as it is, for it may be necessary for you 
to go on an errand.” 

“Very good, ma’am.” He bowed and hurried to the 
library, almost colliding with Hitty as she flew down the 
stairs and made for the dining-room. Her scant, sandy 
hair was stringing out wildly, and she thrust him un- 
ceremoniously out of her way with an angular arm. 

Hobart Drake was seated at his desk, sealing an envelope. 
He turned as Miles entered. 

“William, I want you to take this letter to the home of 
Mr. Martin Kemp and deliver it to his son, Mr. Richard, 
personally. Be sure that you give it to no one else. If he 
asks you any questions tell him merely that I said it was a 
matter of the utmost importance, but do not mention the 
fact that Miss Patricia has — gone away. I think that I 
can trust you.” 

“Of course, sir,” Miles replied. “I shall follow your 
instructions perfectly, Mr. Drake. But if the young gentle- 
man should not be at home ?” 

“Find out if possible when he went out, where he has 
gone and how soon he is expected to return, but bring the 
letter back with you if you are unable to place it in his 
own hands. — And hurry! The Kemp place is next to 
Mr. Grayle’s.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Miles lost no time in departing on his errand. As he 
went his memory flashed back to the mysterious, winking 
light which Scot tie had seen down by the gate on the 
previous night. Could it have been a signal for which 


DIVIDED TRAILS 


155 


Patricia was waiting? If she had planned an elopement 
why had she not taken him into her confidence? The girl 
had left the house secretly and of her own volition; so 
much was plain, and the absence of the suitcase proved 
that she had not intended to return for several days, at 
least. Under the circumstances the detective was averse 
to reminding Miss Drake that it was his day off duty but 
he felt that at all costs he must get into town for a confer- 
ence with John Wells. 

A trim-looking parlormaid opened the door of the Kemp 
bungalow in answer to his summons but shook her head 
when he asked for Mr. Richard. 

“He’s gone out motoring with the family and they won’t 
be home until late this afternoon. They didn’t say where 
they were going.” 

“Would any of the rest of you know?” Miles urged. 
“I’ve got a message for Mr. Richard and it’s important.” 

“You can wait here and I’ll see.” She shot him a 
coquettish glance. “Maybe you could leave the message 
with me and I’ll give it to Mr. Richard.” 

“No. I have orders to deliver it myself.” He tempered 
his refusal with a smile of open admiration, and the girl 
smiled back over her shoulder as she disappeared down 
the hall. In a few moments she returned. 

“None of the maids know, but the chauffeur told the 
gardener Mr. Kemp had said something about going up to 
a country club in Westchester County, though he doesn’t 
remember the name of it.” She rolled her brown eyes. 
“You’re kind of strange here, aren’t you?” 

“I haven’t, been in Brooklea long,” Miles responded 
evasively. “I ought to have brought this message to Mr. 
Richard last night.” 


156 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“He wasn’t here. He had to take his mother to a theatre 
party in the city, for Mr. Kemp wouldn't go himself, 
he had a headache. They never got back till half-past 
one. Who shall I tell Mr. Richard it was that sent you 
here?” 

“Just say William had a message for him and he’ll 
know.” Miles smiled meaningly. “I think he would like 
it, too, if you tell him when nobody else can hear it.” 

The girl giggled as she opened the door. 

“I guess I know where you work! Are you going to 
bring that message back this evening — William?” 

“That depends, but couldn’t I come again even without 
it?” He paused and she nodded, blushing. 

“To the back door, maybe, and ask the cook if Rhoda’s 
around. — But go on now! I have my work to do.” 

Miles returned with all haste to the Drake house and 
placed the letter again in Hobart’s hands, explaining his 
non-success. 

“Young Mr. Kemp took his mother to a theatre-party 
in town last evening, too, sir.” He added. “They didn’t 
get home till after one o’clock. I thought I had better 
tell you everything the maid said.” 

“Quite right, William. So young Kemp was at the 
theatre, you say? — Don’t go, I want to think for a minute.” 
Hobart turned and began slowly to pace the floor, and it 
seemed to the detective that the assurance of Dick’s alibi 
had fallen upon him like a blow. At last he halted and 
seated himself once more at his desk where he wrote rapidly 
and with decision, but before he had finished Miss Drake 
swept into the room. 

“You have sent for Richard?” she asked. 

“He motored with the family to Westchester for the day, 


DIVIDED TRAILS 


157 


and last night he was in town with his mother, at the 
theatre.” Her brother raised his eyes to hers. “You can 
spare William for a few hours?” 

“Of course. He was to have had this day free, but 
under the circumstances — ?” She turned to Miles who 
said with respectful concern: 

“I’m only too glad to do anything I can, ma’am. It 
doesn’t matter about my day off, I can take it whenever 
it’s convenient.” 

Inwardly his heart sank, however. He might manage 
to send Scot tie in his stead but he had counted upon a 
personal interview with the attorney. It was therefore 
with something of a shock that Hobart’s next words fell 
upon his ears. 

“You know your way about New York? I want you 
to go to this address and present this note to Mr. John 
Wells. If he is not at home his man will tell you where he 
may be found, and I want you to get in touch with him 
before you come back here, no matter how late it is. Do 
you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” Miles managed to reply, glancing at the 
envelope which the other had handed to him. It bore an 
address on West End Avenue. “Will there be any answer?” 

“I will leave that to Mr. Wells; he will give you a note 
in reply if he considers it necessary. Be sure that you 
see him personally.” Hobart took a bill-fold from his 
pocket. “I need not assure you, William, that you will 
be paid for this in addition to your regular wages, but here 
is something now to cover your expenses. Tell Rip to 
rush you down to the station in the car; you can just 
about make that eleven-twenty train.” 

During the short but halting journey on the Sunday 


158 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


local Miles’ brain was assailed with a host of perplexing 
conjectures. Had any of the family connived at or secretly 
known of the girl’s departure? More, had some persua- 
sion, some ruse been used to induce her to leave the house 
quietly and place herself under the protection of some sup- 
posed friend who was an ally of another member of the 
household? Andrew could not have been concerned; nor 
was it likely that Roger, self-centered in his own recent 
humiliation, could have had a hand in the affair, always 
supposing that there had been some obscure reason for 
them to desire the absence of their niece. 

But there remained Miss Drake and Hobart. The latter 
had suggested a sojourn in Europe to his daughter and 
cautioned her not to mention the matter to her aunt. 
In his disposition of his own affairs he had shown himself 
capable of quick decision and unalterable determination. 
What if he had taken things into his own hands? Realiz- 
ing that Patricia would not consent to the proposed Euro- 
pean trip might he not have arranged to spirit her away, 
trusting that his authority would prevail later when the 
atmosphere of home and the proximity of Dick Kemp could 
not serve to sustain her opposition? 

On the other hand, if his dismay had been genuine, Miss 
Drake in spite of her apparent shock when Miles announced 
the disappearance of her niece had thereafter maintained 
an almost abnormal composure and seemed more concerned 
with the possible notoriety attendant upon her brother’s 
implied threat to notify the police than with the safe re- 
turn of the girl herself. If for some unfathomable reason, 
she had decided to get rid of Patricia for a time the detec- 
tive believed her capable of using any and every stratagem. 

With the unforeseen departure of his client Miles’ own 


DIVIDED TRAILS 


159 


status in the case became debatable; and it was with a sense 
of relief, when at length he reached the plain stone residence 
on West End Avenue, that he found himself ushered at once 
into the presence of John Wells. 

The attorney was seated at a gigantic writing-table in 
his study and there seemed to be an added grimness about 
his mouth as he greeted the detective. 

“You were surprised at not being announced, Sergeant? 
The fact is, I was expecting you.” 

“Mr. Drake telephoned ahead, then?” Miles asked. 

“No. I anticipated that you would make some excuse 
this morning and come to me on your own initiative.” 
Wells paused and added: “You are here at the behest of 
Hobart Drake?” 

“As the only servant about the place available for the 
errand, he commissioned me to bring you this letter.” As 
he spoke Miles drew the missive from his pocket and laid 
it before the attorney. “You know what has occurred 
from another source, Mr. Wells? Do you mean that you 
have heard from Miss Patricia Drake herself?” 

“Exactly.” The other nodded and taking from the 
drawer a crumpled twist of paper he held it out to the 
detective. “See what you can make of that while I read 
what Hobart has to say about the matter.” 

The paper was of poor texture, limp and grimy, and as he 
smoothed it Miles saw that it was lined not only across the 
page but vertically at each side. It appeared to be a 
fragment torn from a larger sheet and the few sentences 
hastily scrawled upon it in soft blue crayon were so blurred 
and smudged as to be almost illegible, yet they leaped out 
before his gaze as though written in letters of fire. 


160 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


Dear Mr. Wells. 

Have promised man who brings this that you will give him 
five dollars and ask no questions. You will harm all of us if 
you do. I have left home but am safe. Don’t look for me, will 
explain when I can. Tell M. keep at work without fail but no 
one else must know you have heard from me. This vital for 
everyone’s sake. Warn M. look out for tattooed arm. 

Pat. 

“Well?” the attorney asked. He had laid aside his 
letter after glancing through it swiftly and now he sat re- 
garding his visitor with grave eyes. 

“Have you a specimen of Miss Drake’s writing here, — 
Miss Patricia’s, I mean?” 

“Yes. That occurred to me too and I hunted up this 
little note of hers, but allowing for haste and a certain 
element of agitation the writing appears identical in my 
opinion.” He produced a large, square pale-blue envelope 
similar to the one which Miles had surreptitiously opened 
a few days before. “If you will compare the two I think 
you will agree with me.” 

The detective nodded as he placed the two letters side 
by side on the table before him. 

“I do. This message was undoubtedly written by Miss 
Patricia. What time did you receive it and what did you 
do when it came, Mr. Wells?” 

“What she asked.” The attorney shrugged. “I was at 
breakfast about ten o’clock this morning when the man 
presented himself and I went out to the vestibule to give 
him the money personally and have a look at him. He 
was a rough-looking character but respectful enough; he 
seemed to be about thirty-five, short and brawny with 
extraordinarily long arms, and he spoke with a decided 
brogue.” 


DIVIDED TRAILS 


161 


“What did he say?” Miles asked. “Was his manner 
furtive and did he appear in a hurry to be gone?” 

“On the contrary. He was brisk and business-like as if 
he had come upon an every-day errand, and he exhibited 
neither curiosity nor hesitation. ‘Did you get the young 
lady’s note, sir?’ he asked. ‘If you’re Mr. Wells, she said 
there would be something coming to me.’ I admitted my 
identity, handed him a five-dollar bill — for which he thanked 
me civilly but in an off-hand manner — and watched him 
go off down the street. He was heavy-footed and walked 
with a drooping slouch, but he did not seem to be in any 
undue haste, nor did he once glance back. On snap judg- 
ment he might have been a porter, mechanic, janitor, 
truckdriver — you know the type, but one thing is certain; 
he was a product of the city, pure and simple.” 

“How was he dressed?” 

“Like any respectable workman on Sunday, in a cheap, 
dark suit with a glaring tie and a collar two sizes too small 
for him.” The attorney broke off and added in eager 
impatience: “But the note, Sergeant! What do you think 
of it?” 

“Did it come to your hands in this condition, Mr. 
Wells?” Miles did not immediately reply to the question. 
“Rolled-up and dirty and without an envelope? It smells 
strongly of moist tobacco.” 

“Yes. I interrogated my servant afterward, and he 
said that when the man was assured I was at home he 
took the twisted coil of paper from a rubber tobacco pouch 
and insisted that it be given to me.” Wells could contain 
himself no longer. “But Sergeant, what is the meaning 
of it? Why has Miss Patricia taken this step?” 

“I am as much in the dark as you are, sir,” the detec- 


162 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


tive admitted frankly. “The letter was not written under 
compulsion, that is self-evident, and she left the house 
some time during last night of her own free will, without 
taking me into her confidence. Indeed I have reason to 
think that she had an appointment with someone who 
waited outside the gate to aid her in her flight, and it could 
not have been the young man who is in love with her, for 
his presence elsewhere has been established. If it is rele- 
vant to our problem may I ask what Mr. Hobart Drake 
wrote to you?” 

“Merely that his daughter had disappeared leaving no 
word behind and he knew that she had not eloped. He 
wants me to engage the services of the best private detec- 
tive I can find and send him down to Brooklea for instruc- 
tions.” The attorney rose and began to pace the floor in 
long strides. “Under ordinary circumstances I should feel 
constrained to tell him I had received her personal assur- 
ance that she was safe, but her note has placed me in a 
quandary. She is only a child, impulsive and with little 
knowledge of the world, and in spite of her self-confidence 
she may be in actual danger of some sort. What can be 
the meaning of her reference to a tattooed arm?” 

“When we have learned that, Mr. Wells,” responded 
Miles, “we will be well on our way toward dispelling the 
nightmare of grotesque horror which hangs over the Drake 
family. Our young client has chosen to follow a divided 
trail, but she has, by sheer accident I think, stumbled upon 
the path to the truth.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 

W HAT would you advise me to do about Hobart 
Drake’s request?” John Wells asked after a pause. 
“In withholding from him the knowledge that I 
have heard from his daughter I am virtually rendering 
myself responsible for her safety, yet, according to her, it 
is vital for all their sakes that this note remain a secret 
between you and me. If I accede to his request and a 
private detective should succeed in tracing her, it may balk 
whatever plan she has in mind, and, if we are to trust to 
her immature judgment, actual harm may come of it. I 
see no way to refuse him and frankly, Sergeant, I shall 
not rest until I know where the girl is myself.” 

“I think I can help you out of your dilemma,” Miles 
remarked meditatively. “You will be fulfilling his request 
to the letter and at the same time furthering our investiga- 
tion. I know that we regular members of the Department 
are popularly supposed to be at swords’ points with our 
unofficial brethren , but the fact is that we not infrequently 
exchange professional courtesies with some of them and 
there is one clever fellow in particular' a freelance, who 
163 


164 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


has been of assistance to me in more than one instance where 
finesse and discretion were of paramount importance in 
side issues of the main case such as this immediate question 
of ours. He can be relied upon to search for Miss Patricia 
under commission from Mr. Drake, but he will not find 
her for him until we authorize him to do so, although he 
will keep us fully informed of his discoveries.’' 

“Splendid!” the attorney exclaimed, waving toward the 
telephone which stood upon the writing-table. “See if you 
can get in touch with him at once. Hobart Drake is my 
client and this is a highly unprofessional course for me to 
pursue, but since we are only seeking to protect him and 
his interests ?” 

“We are possibly protecting him and them against him- 
self,” Miles interrupted quietly as he took the receiver off 


the hook. “York four- two-one-six Hello, is 

Mr. Zorn there? Sergeant Miles speaking How 


are you, Zorn? Got anything urgent on at present? 

You did? Well, you had better tell your chauffeur to wait, 
for you will want to forego that little siesta of yours when 
you hear the proposition a gentleman of my acquaintance, 

Mr. John Wells, wishes to put up to you Yes, it 

is he As soon as you can get to West End Avenue 

and Ninety-seventh, and bring a strong magnifying glass 
with you.” 

“Your Mr. Zorn must be successful to maintain his own 
car,” Wells remarked as the detective replaced the receiver. 
“Aren’t his sleeping hours somewhat erratic? From your 
remarks I judged that he was about to take a nap.” 

Miles laughed. 

“He has just concluded a case upon which he has been 
working night and day and meant to rest, but he could not 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 


165 


resist the lure of a fresh problem, particularly when I men- 
tioned your name. As for the car, that and his exclusive 
apartment are part of the essential front he keeps up for his 
clientele. Zorn’s specialty is the unearthing of aristocratic 
family skeletons and the reburying of them in cotton wool, 
so to speak, and his social graces, combined with his ability 
to look and act like the most vacuous scion of society, are 
among his greatest assets, although he never touches divorce 
evidence or anything else of a scandalous or trivial nature.” 

“It will not be necessary to take him fully into our con- 
fidence?’ ’ Wells made the statement with a rising inflection 
and the detective shook his head. 

“Use your own discretion of course, sir. His only object 
will be to find the girl. I have come upon some curious 
facts which convinced me almost from the start that al- 
though there may be marked eccentricity in the family, 
some active outside agency has been playing upon their 
sensibilities to bring them to such a pass; from what motive, 
however, I am unprepared to state, but I should like to 
know a little more about their earlier years which only you 
can tell me. Before my colleague joined me in the capacity 
of gardener I arranged to place him in a position where he 
might learn the gossip of the neighborhood and hear the 
reminiscences of some of the Drakes’ older acquaintances, 
and I understand that in the days of their poverty Roger 
helped to eke out their income by coaching backward 
college students.” 

“Yes. I remember some of them,” the attorney remarked. 
“More than one has made his mark in later life. There is 
young Charlie Bennington, for instance — he is still called 
‘young’ Charlie, although he and the rest are all around 
forty now. He has become a power in the steel industry. 


166 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


Franklin Hebert is one of our most noted consultant engi- 
neers and Lawrence Averill is the president of the Averill 
Corporation. I recall these three particularly because they 
are all New Yorkers and I run into them from time to time. 
The Drakes had a pretty hard row to hoe, even with 
Hobart’s salary at the bank.” 

“I have heard that he was once ambitious for an artistic 
career.” Miles paused tentatively. 

“It died hard with him.” Wells nodded. “I don’t think 
he ever aspired to be a painter but he was always interested 
in etchings. For some time after he obtained the position 
of paying teller he went to a night school to study art print- 
ing and engraving, but the treadmill finally killed his earlier 
dreams and the money game got him in the long run; that 
is what makes his latest move all the more incomprehen- 
sible!” 

“His resignation from the Stock Exchange and retirement 
from business, you mean?” asked the detective. 

“No. I referred to the disposition he has made of his 
fortune,” responded the other gravely. “I was wrong in 
my deductions when I called you up a few days ago; he has 
certainly no intention of making a getaway.” 

“He has consulted you further?” 

“From the time the market closed yesterday until he 
left for Brooklea I was closeted with him, and had he not 
been so calmly determined and so methodical about every 
one of the multifarious details of his plan I should have been 
convinced that a committee ought to be appointed to 

inquire into his sanity. Sergeant ,” Wells had dropped 

again into his chair and now he leaned forward impressively. 
“When I shall have carried out Hobart Drake’s instructions 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 


167 


he will be a comparatively poor man once more.” 

“What?” Miles stared. 

“His wife left their daughter amply provided for and 
of the money she bequeathed to him he has decided to 
place one-half in trust for his sister, two- thirds of the re- 
mainder for Patricia, and keep only the other fraction for 
himself. His entire personal fortune, capital and interest, 
is to be given away anonymously, — scattered broadcast.” 

“ ‘Anonymously?’ ” There was a tense note in the de- 
tective’s voice. “Mr. Wells, this is more than interest- 
ing; it may have a direct bearing on the matter we are 
investigating. Will you tell me how these gifts are to be 
distributed?” 

“Several universities throughout the East are to have 
scholarships established and the public charities of the 
communities in which they are situated will receive sub- 
stantial sums,” the attorney replied. “In addition to that, 
over a hundred of the smaller cities and towns all over the 
country will benefit, either in civic improvements or in the 
establishment and maintenance of homes for the aged and 
destitute. Over a hundred cities and towns, Sergeant 
Miles, and I am positive that he has never set foot in one 
of them!” 

“Did he offer any reason, any explanation ?” 

“Hobart Drake has been a leader of men too long to 
volunteer an explanation of any move he makes.” Wells 
smiled a trifle grimly. “I admit that I expostulated with 
him but he merely said that his decision had been arrived 
at after careful consideration and nothing could turn him 
from his purpose. There was one point I noted in connec- 
tion with the list of cities and towns which he gave me, 
although I don’t know that it is of any significance; they 


168 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


were named not in the order of their size or importance, 
nor were they in a graded scale according to the amounts 
he intended to donate to each, but seemed to be in zones — 
north-eastern, central Atlantic, southern, middle-western 
and so forth.” 

“Did you speak of this to him?” Miles asked. 

“No. It did not occur to me until afterward. He had 
evidently had the different communities looked up and 
learned the most pressing need of each, so he must have 
had this planned even before — er — the present trouble 
started.” Wells paused and added slowly: “Including the 
scholarships, the sum of money he is giving away amounts 
to a trifle more than two million dollars; do you wonder 
that I hesitate to carry out his instructions and that I mean 
to delay the distribution as long as possible in the hope 
that we may first arrive at the solution of this mysterious 
business?” 

“Mr. Wells, I cannot promise anything now but I think 
I am safe in asserting that a few days more at most will lay 
the truth bare before us.” There was a new note of re- 
pressed excitement in Miles’ tones and his hands gripped 
the arms of his chair. “Whether that truth will be pleasant 
to face or not is beside the question but there is a possi- 
bility which should have occurred to me days ago and I 
mean to put it to the test. Just what was the value of the 
late Mrs. Hobart Drake’s estate?” 

“In round numbers, three hundred thousand dollars; 
two- thirds being left in trust for Patricia, but Hobart in- 
vested his third in real estate which increased half again in 
value.” 

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” The detective 
spoke as though to himself. “He is placing half in trust 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 


169 


for his sister — that’s seventy-five thousand — and two- 
thirds of what remains for Miss Patricia; that leaves twenty- 
five thousand for himself. It isn’t a large sum for a man 
who is accustomed to thinking in millions, nor a big stake 
with which to start anew when one is past forty, and the 
income from it at the present rate of interest would scarcely 
keep him in cigars, yet to some men it would mean afflu- 
ence. — Did he give you any hint as to what he had planned 
to do in the future, Mr. Wells? Surely you pointed out 
to him the financial position in which he was placing him- 
self?” 

“I can assure you, Sergeant, that I never addressed a 
jury more earnestly than I talked to Hobart Drake yester- 
day,” Wells replied drily. “It was of no avail, however. 
He waited until I had exhausted every possible argument 
and then said: ‘John, I know this seems suicidal to you, 
but I have planned my course for a long time and I know 
what I am about. Forgive me, old man, for not taking 
you more fully into my confidence just now; it is settled 
and there is an end to it.’ ” 

“What was the original sum which each of them in- 
herited?” Miles was still following his own train of thought. 
“From whence did it come?” 

“From a distant cousin of their mother in England. 
He had owned or been interested in a South African diamond 
mine, if I remember correctly, and died leaving no other 
heirs. I was not the attorney for the family at the time, 
but later, when Hobart and then Jerusha placed portions 
of their inheritance in my hands for investment, I learned 
that they had never seen this cousin but had kept up a 
desultory sort of correspondence with him since their 
mother’s death, and I do not know whether they all shared 


170 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


alike under his will or not. Certainly Roger received 
enough to permit him to take up his research work un- 
hampered by worry over funds for travel and daily needs, 
and Andrew was enabled to set himself up in the sheep- 
raising industry. Hobart began trading on the market 
and was lucky from the start, and he put only small sums 
in my hands at first for investment, but Jerusha placed 
upward of twenty-five thousand in my care, and she had 
disbursed some of her capital in remodeling the family 
home. But what has all this to do with the test you pro- 
pose making? What has it to do with Patricia’s warning 
about a tattooed arm?” 

Miles was saved the necessity of a reply by the entrance 
of the servant, who announced Mr. David Zorn. The 
latter proved to be a fair-haired, immaculately attired 
young man with an expression of polite boredom in his 
sleepy blue eyes. His tone was mildly inquiring as, after 
he had acknowledged the introduction to the attorney in 
a pleasant drawl, he turned to Miles. 

“Sorry I could not get here before, Sergeant. Here is 
the magnifying glass. You mentioned a — er — little prop- 
osition over the ’phone- ?” 

“Mr. Wells will give you the details, Zorn. It is a point 
in connection with a case of mine which I cannot give my 
attention to, and you understand that any fact you may 
come upon which is extraneous to your own particular 
mission is for our ears alone.” 

Miles took the glass and proceeded to study the com- 
munication which the attorney had received from Patricia, 
and Wells waved the newcomer to a chair. 

“To be brief, Mr. Zorn, a young lady of eighteen who 
lives with her father, a maiden aunt and two bachelor 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 


171 


uncles in a Long Island suburb has left her home under 
mysterious circumstances in which, however, we are satis- 
fied no romance is involved. Her father has asked me to 
engage a private detective to locate her, but we are at the 
request of the young lady herself and without his knowledge 
or that of his sister or brothers investigating a certain 
matter which threatens them. The position which Ser- 
geant Miles and I have taken is this; the young lady must 
be located at the earliest possible moment but not dis- 
turbed if she is in safe hands, and we do not want her 
father informed of her whereabouts, .although he must be 
persuaded that the search for her is progressing and pre- 
vailed upon to take no further step on his own initiative. 
Do I make myself clear?” 

“Perfectly.” The drawl was gone from Zorn’s voice. 
“When did the young lady disappear, Mr. Wells, and in 
what manner?” 

The attorney turned to Miles, who placed the magnify- 
ing glass and letter upon the table before the third man, 
and quickly recounted the circumstances, including the 
mysterious light which Scot tie had observed at the gate 
on the previous evening a'nd the discovery of Patricia’s 
absence that morning. 

“This letter is self-explanatory,” he added. “But be- 
fore you examine it I want to ask you a question. Can 
you think of any legitimate occupation which would take 
an honest young city-bred workingman, whose physical 
strength seems to be his greatest asset, out into the country 
on short trips at all hours of the day and night?” 

Wells stared in amazement at the speaker, but Zorn 
meditated frowningly for a minute and then glanced up. 


172 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“The first supposition which occurs to me is that the 
fellow might be a helper on a moving- van.” 

“Exactly!” Miles cried triumphantly. “Now read the 
young lady’s message and then study the scrap of paper 
upon which it is written. There are not only smudges upon 
it which are not dust and dirt, but you will find faint in- 
dentations here and there that to my mind present at least 
a plausible working hypothesis.” 

Zorn took up the letter, read it carefully twice, and then 
carried it together with the magnifying glass to the near- 
est window. His companions waited in silence until he 
turned. 

“How and when was this presented to you, Mr. Wells?” 
There was a note of suppressed excitement in his tone, and 
when the attorney had recounted the incident he exclaimed: 
“You are right, Sergeant. This paper has been torn from 
the blank page of a receipt book, a sort of bill of lading for 
goods conveyed which the consignee is supposed to sign. 
The smudges are from carbon paper and the indentations 
give us a fragmentary clue to the name and address of the 
last person to whom delivery was made. - ‘Mrs. Ja 
- - - Sloe - - - gcombe Ro - - - - kside, 
New Jer - - For argument’s sake, let us say that 

‘Mrs. Ja — ’ is Mrs. Jason or James Slocum, of something- 
combe Road, Brookside — if such a place exists — New 
Jersey. That will give us a starting-point. This delivery 
must have been made prior to yesterday for I take it that 
the young lady encountered her messenger somewhere out 
on Long Island.” 

“Yes. It is my theory that she must have stopped the 
van on the road and arranged with one of the moving-men 
to bring the note here as soon as they .reached the city. 


WRITTEN IN HASTE 


173 


We have reason to believe that she has gone to none of her 
friends, although it is barely possible that she may have 
taken refuge with a Miss Millicent Armitage, Lane’s End, 
Oyster Bay. Her own name, by the way, is Patricia 
Drake.” 

He added what details were necessary, including his 
position in the Drake menage, and Zorn rose. 

“I may take charge of this message for the time being, 
Mr. Wells? I shall report to you at your office and should 
I come upon any evidence concerning the matter you are 
investigating — ?” 

“Get in touch at once with Sergeant Miles,” the attorney 
interrupted. “Inform us both the instant you locate Miss 
Patricia, and above all, let us know if you encounter any 
person with a tattooed arm!” 


CHAPTER XV 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 



EAVING the attorney’s house a few minutes after 


Zorn’s departure, Miles made his way to the nearest 


restaurant for a belated bit of lunch and then to a 
drug-store where he consulted a directory. 

The president of the noted Averill Corporation lived in 
the Seventies on the exclusive side of the park, Franklin 
Hebert’s address was given as that of a well-known club 
only a few blocks below, but Charles Bennington, the third 
man whom Wells had mentioned as having been a pupil of 
Roger Drake’s in the early days, resided far downtown on an 
old-fashioned square. The detective decided to try to 
interview one of the first two, for every hour was of value 
and he dared not overstay his time away from Brooklea. 

But luck was against him. Lawrence Averill was out, 
and Franklin Hebert had left for a year in the Far East on 
a gigantic engineeringenterprise, so Miles swung himself on 
board a southbound bus. He had no definite anticipation 
of what might be learned from the steel magnate’s rem- 
iniscences that would be pertinent to his present investiga- 
tion, nor had he planned a method of approach, yet when 
he reached the stately old mansion facing the square and 


174 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 


175 


was ushered into the presence of its owner an idea born of 
his last rebuff had formed in his mind. 

“Good-afternoon. Bully spring weather, isn’t it, Mr. — 
er — Miles? Makes you feel like a two-year-old! What can 
I do for you?” The boyish smile, merry eyes and buoyant, 
hearty tones made it easy to understand why the college 
youth of a generation ago was still known as “young 
Charlie” Bennington in spite of the tell-tale paunch and 
thinning hair. “Suppose I’ve met you somewhere but I’ll 
admit that I can’t quite place you. Give me a lead, won’t 
you?” 

“No, Mr. Bennington, I have never had the pleasure of 
meeting you, but before Mr. Hebert left for the Far East 
a week ago he instructed me to get in touch with you. I 
am his secretary and in charge of certain details of his 
affairs during his absence.” 

The detective waited tensely, for it was an anxious mo- 
ment, but his host merely wrinkled his brow perplexedly. 

“Do you mean Franklin Hebert, the engineer? Haven’t 
run into him for ages. He was a class ahead of me at the 
university but as we both flunked in the same year we 
didn’t see much of each other.” 

“Yet he remembers you as having been coached by the 
same tutor although in different seasons,” Miles remarked 
glibly. “I refer to Roger Drake, who afterward became a 
noted archaeologist.” 

“Drake? I should say I do remember him!” Bennington 
exclaimed. “Brilliant chap, half-starved but proud as 
Lucifer and plodding conscientiously away at the uncon- 
genial job of trying to lick a bunch of heedless young cubs 
into shape to pull through college. He was only in the 
twenties himself and his sister was a mere girl, but all 


176 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


youth seemed to have been sapped out of them by the 
struggle to keep up appearances, and that old house of theirs 
at Brooklea had a dignity of its own in spite of the fact that 
it was falling to pieces. I was mighty glad when I heard a 
couple of years later that they had come into quite a lot 
of money, and now and again I’ve read of some honor 
conferred on Roger Drake for his scientific work. There 
were two other brothers, one of whom I hardly remember, 

but the other just resigned from the Stock Exchange ! 

But what did Mr. Hebert want you to see me about?” 

He had halted and the last question was asked in a 
change of tone but Miles replied promptly: 

“A sort of testimonial to Roger Drake from his old boys, 
or as many of them as could be found and would care to 
join the movement. Not a personal monetary gift, of 
course, but a standing fund to be established in his name 
for the aid of impecunious scientists; something on that 
order. It is all still up in the air, but Mr. Hebert has author- 
ized me to head the list for him with a substantial sub- 
scription in the event that others are interested. Do you 
recall a Mr. Averill?” 

ll ‘Larry Averill? Saw him at the club yesterday.” The 
note of easy cordiality had returned to Bennington’s voice. 
“He boned up with me at Drake’s for two summers. Rather 

a pompous ass now, but in the old days ! I remember 

when the craze for tattooing struck us. Roger Drake was 
a nut on chemistry, dyes especially; thought he could 
reproduce by that means some of the marvelous old colorings 
used by prehistoric man for personal adornment and later 
by the Egyptians for their mummy cases. Larry achieved the 
bright idea of decorating us like the savages, but under the 
skin, and he helped himself to some of Drake’s dyes and 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 


177 


experimented on us. His work was crude but lasting; I’ll 
say that for it. I’m still carrying a souvenir.” 

Laughing, he rolled up his sleeve before the detective’s 
transfixed gaze and displayed upon a plump forearm a 
blurred stain of green. Miles laughed, too, but his thoughts 
were in a turmoil. 

“Not a very successful job, was it? Please tell me more 
about it, Mr. Bennington, if I am not intruding on your 
time. These are just the sort of reminiscences to appeal to 
the gentlemen I want to reach who may not be favorably 
impressed by Mr. Hebert’s project unless their memories 
are stirred. Do you recall the names of any other victims 
of Mr. Averill’s artistic tendencies?” 

“No, but I remember how horrified Miss Drake was 
when the result was disclosed, although old Roger was as 
interested as if he had made a scientific discovery, in spite 
of the fact that he felt bound to disapprove. That other 
brother of his — Albert or Allen or some such name — took it 
as a great joke. But I think this idea of Mr. Hebert’s is 
a splendid one, and if you can get the crowd together so 
that we may talk it over and decide what form the testi- 
monial is to take I’ll be glad to come. It will be good to 
see the old boys whose very names have been crowded out 
of my mind by the rush of things during the last twenty 
years. You can put me down for the same amount that 
Hebert is chipping in, whatever it is.” Bennington held 
out his hand. “Glad he thought of me and that you looked 
me up, Mr. Miles. Don’t forget to let me hear from you.” 

The detective murmured his thanks and took his depar- 
ture, but all the way back to Brooklea in the stuffy train 
this new possible lead was paramount in his mind. Roger 
had been interested in the experiment in tattooing which 


178 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


his pupils had made, and Andrew had considered it a great 
joke; had either of them tried it upon someone whose 
enmity they had later incurred and who now, for some 
unknown reason and by means of an equally mysterious 
agency was bringing ruin and disgrace upon them all? 

Hobart Drake sent for him on his arrival at the house 
and announced: 

“Mr. Wells is sending a person named Zorn down to see 
me by the eight o’clock train. When he comes tonight have 
him shown at once into the library, William; Carter is laid 
up again.” 

“Yes, sir.” Miles hesitated. “Is there anything more, 
sir? Anything I can do?” 

“No. My sister is resting but you might ask Mr. Roger 
if he will have something; he is with Mr. Grayle in the 
library now.” 

Miles bowed and withdrew, but as he reached the door 
of the library he paused. Roger’s voice came to him raised 
in unaccustomed emphasis. 

“Of course we’ve heard from her, Enslee! The child is 
with friends of ours and refuses to come home until her 
father promises to be less strict with her; that is the truth 
of this absurd rumor, but how it ever reached your ears !” 

“My dear Roger.” Grayle’s tone was mildly deprecating. 
“Servants will talk, you know, but it never occurred to me 
that Patricia had run away from her home unless she had 
found a modern Gretna Green somewhere with young 
Kemp.” 

“Dick was the cause of contention between her and her 
father, but Patricia hadn’t the slightest intention of elop- 
ing.” Roger spoke in evident haste. “It was inconsiderate 
of her not to take us into her confidence before she left, but 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 179 

it will do her good to get away from this gloomy house for 
a few days.” 

His step sounded within and the detective knocked 
quickly upon the door, wondering at Roger’s subterfuge to 
the friend in whom he had confided less than a week before. 

“Thanks, we shall want nothing,” Roger said in answer 
to his query. His haggard face seemed to have aged years 
since the morning. “I am going to dine with Mr. Grayle 
tonight and if — if anyone wants me I shall be next door.” 

If there were any news of his missing niece. That was 
what he had tried to convey, and Miles nodded under- 
standingly as he closed the door and repaired to the pantry 
to begin his preparations for serving dinner. He saw 
nothing of Scottie until they met in the servants’ dining- 
room and then the latter was uncommunicative but when 
they rose he muttered in a hasty aside: 

“Come to my room, lad, when you’re free. I’ve a curious 
bit of news for you.” 

It was almost nine o’clock when David Zorn drove up to 
the door in a station jitney, and he gave no sign of ever 
having seen Miles before as the latter admitted him and 
conducted him to the library. An hour later when he 
took his leave he slipped a note into the hand of the other. 

Andrew had long since taken himself off to his room, 
but after the departure of the amateur detective, Hobart 
and his sister held a protracted conversation in the drawing- 
room. Miles waited until they finally retired and he was 
left to extinguish the lights before he glanced at Zorn’s 
note. It was terse and to the point. 

Mrs. James Slocum removed housefurnishings from Gotham 
Storage Warehouse to Edgecombe Road, Brookside, New Jersey, 
last Friday. Will take care of bill of lading tomorrow. 


180 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


So that chance shot had hit the mark! It was impossible 
to conjecture under what circumstances Patricia had en- 
countered the moving-men, nor whither she had vanished 
after persuading one of them to act as her messenger, but 
it would be a starting-point to discover where the meeting 
had taken place, and Miles knew that Zorn would leave no 
stone unturned until he had located the girl. Her hurried 
note to the attorney had showed apprehension of trouble 
for the family but no actual fear for herself, and she must 
have had some definite destination in mind. 

Miles locked up the house and then made his way to 
Scottie’s room, where he unburdened himself of the new 
phases of the problem which the day’s events had brought 
forth . 

“The young lady will not be at the home of any of her 
friends whom her aunt can reach.” Scottie puffed reflec- 
tively at his pipe as he sat on the edge of his bed. “If she 
had intended to go to the city she would not have trusted 
that note to a stranger on a slow-going van, with the risk 
that he might not deliver it at all; and the Kemp lad is out 
of it, for I caught a glimpse of him hanging about the summer 
house tonight and ducked before he could tackle me. Some- 
body with a tattooed arm has frightened her away; and yet 
she doesn’t seem the kind to run from trouble, though I’ve 
had no speech with her. I wonder how our friend the 
amateur landscape gardener from next door got wind of 
her disappearance? If ’twas servants’ gossip it’s surprising 
that it did not get beyond his farther hedge.” 

“To young Kemp, you mean?” Miles smiled. “If Rip 
Lunt was the talebearer, I don’t believe he would carry it 
there, for he isn’t over popular with the men servants’ 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 181 

particularly the chauffeur, because of a certain cat-fight 
which was pulled off not long ago.” 

“It wasn’t Rip.” In moments of deep significance 
Scottie sometimes returned to the idioms of his own 
country. “He kens nought of Miss Patricia’s disappearance, 
and moreover he has been a busy man the day!” 

Miles glanced quickly at his colleague. 

“So Rip has been up to something! Is that what you had 
in mind to tell me, Scottie?” 

“It is, and I have had an exciting afternoon. I'm a matter 
of twenty dollars poorer for it, which I shall charge to the 
expense account , and Rip is nursing a scratch on the shoulder 
that would give him an excuse to get out of spading the 
garden if he could explain to the master how he came by 
it.” Scottie closed his right hand and looked down at it 
thoughtfully and his companion observed for the first time 
that the knuckles were reddened and a trifle swollen. 
“ ’Twas a nasty minute and a close shave for him!” 

“You’ve been in a scrap!” Miles exclaimed. “What 
happened, Scottie? You were not attacked ?” 

“No. It was me did the attacking. You see, Owen 
lad, I had it in mind to take a look at the ruins of that big 
cottage in the woods where our friend Roger had his labora- 
tory long ago. This afternoon I started on that faint 
trail over the stubble ground back of the garage into the 
uncleared land that had once been part of the Drake prop- 
erty. It was thick with dead leaves underfoot and sodden 
from the thaw and the underbrush had been cut or broken 
away, so it was easy to follow a narrow, winding path, and 
I didn’t realize I was making no more noise than an Indian 
on the trail until I caught a glimpse of a clearing just ahead 
with a blackened chimney sticking up, and heard the sound 


182 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


of a number of voices raised in dispute. Among them I 
recognized Rip’s and he was plainly frightened but bluster- 
ing. I hurried forward and saw the crumbling foundations 
and charred, rotting 'timbers of the old cottage with a sort 
of closed shed at one end and before it a ring of colored men 
gathered around Rip and a fellow who towered half a head 
taller than he, shaking something that looked like a green 
strip of paper under his nose. 

“ ‘You done pass dis phony money on me yestiddy when 
I faded you!’ he*was fair shouting, and he added a curse 
that no accorded with the Sabbath. ‘I come mighty nigh 
gettin’ run in when I tried to get it changed in Jamaica dis 
mornin’ and now you is gwine to take it back and give me 
de real goods or I’ll cyarve your heart out!’ 

“I could see Rip’s face and it was as nearly white as it 
ever will be. He tried to protest that the money was all 
right but the other fellow broke in more furiously. 

“ ‘Your lies don’t go with me, Rip Lunt! Dese boys 
all see you gimme dis bill yestiddy and it was the onliest 
twenty dollar one in de game! I mought a-knowed it 
wasn’t no good ’cause where would you ever git dat much? 
You-all ain’t never rolled ’em befo’ for more’n a dollar or 
two, you cheap skate! Ain’t dat right, boys?’ 

“The rest of them were getting excited and threatening 
and Rip commenced to whine and blubber, when all of a 
sudden the big fellow went wild and then things happened 
quick. He crumpled the bill and threw it in Rip’s face 
and with a yell reached into his pocket. That was where 
I took a hand in the game. I’m thinking I made a noise 
like a mad bull when I crashed through the bushes and over 
the rotten timbers, for they all turned fair mazed for a 
minute or I would never have been in time. I reached 


SCOTTIE MIXES IN 


183 


that big buck just as his knife streaked down across Rip’s 
shoulder and caught him one on the point of the jaw that 
put him out for the count. Man, I didn’t know I had the 
punch left in me after the years I’ve lived soft!” 

Scottie glanced down once more affectionately at his 
clenched fist and Miles cried: 

“But the rest of them! Didn’t they close in on you?” 

“Only two tried it, but one went down with his thick 
skull against the brick of the chimney, and by that time 
Rip came to life and grabbed the knife the big fellow had 
let fall, so the others took to their heels. Rip was loud 
in his gratitude, but out of the tail of my eye I saw him 
hunt for that bill and then turn to sneak away, and I laid 
hold of him by the collar to wait till the lout who had 
accused him woke up for I wanted to get the right of it. 

“He sat up after a bit, rubbing his jafw, and started 
to turn ugly, but I spoke to him man to man and said I’d 
make good for Rip if there’d been a mistake. He told 
me fair that Rip had lost the money to him in a crap game 
Saturday and when he tried to change it at an auto repair 
shop that morning a fellow whose car was there and who 
claimed to be connected with some bank butted in and 
said the bill was counterfeit. I made Rip let me have a 
look at it and then I laughed in the big buck’s face and gave 
him a crisp new twenty from my wallet in.exchange to show 
him what I thought of it. He went away sheepish enough 
and I took Rip back to his room over the garage and fixed 
up his shoulder. Here’s the bit of paper the row started 
over.” 

He handed to Miles a limp, worn twenty-dollar bill, 
one end of which had a tinge of brown, and the detective 
turned it thoughtfully over in his hands. 


184 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“I wonder how Rip got it?” he remarked. “It isn’t near 
the first of the month and his wages wouldn’t stay this 
long in his pockets, while I don’t think he’s got the nerve 
to steal even if he had the opportunity. What did he tell 
you?” 

“Nothing. That’s the odd part of it. He was extrava- 
gant in his thanks to me for mixing in, but when I asked 
about the money he commenced to greet over the cut he’d 
got and. swore he was dying. Not a sensible word could 
I get out of him and I left him at last in disgust, thinking 
to have it out with him later, for if I’d tried the old third 
degree on him then he would have gone to pieces. When 
I went back to his room he was gone.” 

“We’ll make him come clean when we get hold of him. 
If the bill is all right he needn’t be afraid — !” Miles checked 
himself suddenly. “But is it, Scottie? It’s so old I 
wouldn’t take an oath on it ” 

“I would, lad.” There was a certain grimness in the 
other’s tone. “You’ll mind I told you I was the poorer by 
twenty dollars? I had a bit of experience years past with 
the O’Toole gang that shoved the queer. ’Twas before 
your time, but I learned a trifle from the experts that I’ve 
not forgot, and that bill is as phony as the brightest gold 
brick that was ever sold!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


DAYLIGHT 


E ARLY as Miles set about his duties on Monday morn- 
ing he found that Miss Drake was downstairs before 
him, pacing from room to room as though she could 
not remain still. She was pallid and worn and the deep 
shadows about her eyes proclaimed the sleepless night 
through which she had passed, but she was as carefully 
dressed as usual, with every hair of her elaborate coiffure 
in place, and bade him “good morning’' with her accus- 
tomed composure. 

While he was cleaning the hall, Rip appeared for the 
mailbag but slipped away with obvious haste before the 
detective could question him. Presently the three mas- 
culine members of the household descended. To Miles’ 
surprise it was Andrew who of the trio betrayed the most 
marked evidence of anxiety; his face was drawn, his hearty 
voice lowered, and at breakfast the hand with which he 
essayed to lift the coffee cup to his lips shook visibly. 

The meal was a mere pretense, hurried through by the 
family as quickly as possible, and near its conclusion the 
telephone in the library shrilled its summons. Andrew- 
started from his chair, then paused, glancing at his sister, 

185 


186 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


but it was Hobart who replied to it. His voice came to 
them evenly in short, monosyllabic responses, but when he 
rejoined the others in the dining-room his eyes were flash- 
ing and his jaw set. 

“Hobart, what is it?” Miles had retired to the pantry 
but he heard an odd quaver in Miss Drake’s tones. “Not 
— it wasn’t about Patricia?” 

There was a palpable pause before her brother’s reply. 

“It concerned a business proposition about which I must 
see Wells at once, Jerusha. Please ring for William to 
tell Rip I want the car at the door in ten minutes, and if any 
message comes for me from the man Zorn before I return 
I wish that you, Roger, would take it for me. I’ll call up 
myself from town to learn if you have heard anything.” 

What was the message which had brought that defiant, 
cornered expression once more to the financier’s face? 
Miles knew that no mere business matter could take Hobart 
Drake where he would be out of instant reach of the private 
detective he had engaged to search for his daughter. Had 
he received an anonymous threat or a demand from the 
persecutor who had sent him the letter with the false post- 
mark a week before? 

Rip was lounging beside the car, but at the pseudo- 
houseman’s approach he began to polish the nearest lamp 
vigorously. 

“I hear you got in a fight yesterday,” Miles remarked, 
when he had delivered Hobart Drake’s message. 

“Sho’ did, Willyum. If it hadn’t a-been for de gardener 
I ’spec’ I’d be daid! Dat Leviticus Snagg is de baddest 
actor what is, an’ some day he’s gwine get his come-uppance. 
My shoulder hu’t somethin’ scan’lous, dunno how kin 
I drive de cyar noways!” He rolled his eyes deprecatingly 


DAYLIGHT 


187 


at Miles, for the latter’s tone had been gruff. “Was it 
Jack tole you bouten de ruckus?” 

“Yes, and he said it was over a twenty-dollar bill and 
you wouldn’t tell him where you got it.” Miles frowned 
alarmingly. “Now, Rip, I lost a twenty-dollar bill last 
week and though I don’t say you picked it up and kept 
it I am going straight to Miss Drake and let her know all 
about your crap-shooting and the argument yesterday, 
and Jack Galloway will show her the bill you lost to Levi- 
ticus to prove it, if you don’t tell me how it came into your 
possession!” 

“Dat money was my money an’ I ain’t got no call to tell 
nobody where it came from!” Rip retorted with unexpected 
spirit. “ ’Viticus been just a-layin’ for me to pick a scrap 
with an’ dere wasn’t nothin’ wrong with that bill, nor it 
didn’t belong to you, neither! I done, had it for mos’ a 
month. Folks gettin’ mighty cur’us ’bouten my bus’ness! 
Where you gwine, Willyum?” 

The question was asked in sudden trepidation and Miles 
replied over his shoulder. 

“You can keep your business to yourself as far as I'm 
concerned but we’ll see what Miss Drake has to say about 
it!” 

“Willyum! Don’t you go for to tell Mis’ Drake nothin’ 
bouten dat crap game! Dere ain’t no ’special reason why I 
wasn’t sayin’ how come I had dat bill but I got mad when 
you ’spicioned it was your money. You recollecks my cat 
what up an’ died on me? Las’ time I done put him up to 
fight I won a powerful lot of money — more’n sixty dollars — 
but it was all in chicken feed and dere was ten two-dollar 
bills ’mongst de rest. Eve’ybody knows dat two-dollar 
bills don’t bring no luck an’ I was studyin’ ’bout how could I 


188 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


get shut of ’em quick when it come to me dat if I was to get 
it all in one twenty maybe I wouldn’t break it so soon to 
spend. Nex’ mornin’ I tooken Mr. Drake to de train an’ 
after it had gone I went in de station to — to get a new time- 
table. Dere was a man at de window tryin’ to get change 
for a twenty but de agent wouldn’t give him lessen fives 
’countin’ he needed de small bills, so I swop with de man. 
Dunno who he was, he didn’t belong ’round here; had on a 
ovehcoat with a fur collar an’ carried a gold-headed cane, 
real han’some. Gemmun like dat wouldn’t be totin’ 
’round no fake money, no how.” 

It was as evident that Rip was making up his story as he 
went along as it was that no threats nor persuasion could 
wring the truth from him and Miles gave up the effort for 
the time being. Approaching the house once more he came 
upon Scottie behind the screening branches of a thick- 
growing lilac bush. 

“Did you have any luck with Rip?” The latter grinned. 

“No, but I made sure of one thing. There is a special 
reason why he won’t tell where he got that bill — by the 
way, old man, let me have it for a while, will you? I want 
a good look at it when I have a chance.” 

“Here you are!” Scottie gave a cautious glance about 
as he extracted the bill from his wallet and handed it over, 
exclaiming: “Yonder is young Kemp making signals from 
behind the hedge; they’ll be seeing him from the house if 
he’s not careful. I’ll tell him to come around behind the 
garage and we’ll stall him for a while. The lad looks fair 
wild!” 

But Dick was not so easily to be stalled. Livid and 
shaking with suppressed excitement when they joined him 
he demanded heatedly: 


DAYLIGHT 


189 


“Look here, I want the truth! Where is Miss Drake?” 

“The young lady, sir?” Scottie’s tone was bland. “Where 
would she be? I have no message from her, have you, 
William?” 

“She has had no chance for a word with me,” Miles 
asserted truthfully enough. “Carter will be about and serve 
lunch but if I see her alone ” 

“Have you two fellows been paid to lie to me?” inter- 
rupted the young man fiercely. “I’ve heard — never mind 
how — that Miss Patricia isn’t home, and she would not 
have gone away of her own free will without a word to me! 
If her father and aunt have done this to separate us they’ll 
be sorry for it, but if she has disappeared — if harm has 
come to her !” 

His voice broke and Scottie observed with dignity: 

“We’ve no reason to lie to you, sir. Have we not risked 
losing our places to please you and the young lady? A 
nice neighborhood this must be we’ve come to work in, 
William, where folk should start rumors like this! How 
would you get the notion that Miss Patricia had disap- 
peared, of all things!” 

“Some man came to the house yesterday when I was out 
motoring and asked the houseman a lot of questions, — 
where I’d been the night before and where I was then and 
how soon I’d be back. He said he had an important mes- 
sage to deliver to me that he wouldn’t leave with Rhoda, 
and her description made me sure it was William and 
that he had come from Miss Patricia. She didn’t meet me 
in the usual place last evening, though I waited, and when 

I heard just now that she’d gone !” he broke off and 

added directly to Miles: “It was you yesterday, wasn’t it? 
What did you want to see me for?” 


190 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Well, sir, it’s not my place to say, but if I’d found 
you at home I was to give you a note from Mr. Drake. I 
think he wanted to see you,” Miles replied. 

“He can see me now!” The young man started forward 
but the detective halted him as the rumble of the car 
rolling out of the garage came to their ears. 

“He’s gone to town, sir. I’m not the sort to gossip 
ordinarily about the people I work for, but I served break- 
fast yesterday and Miss Patricia didn’t come down. From 
what Miss Drake said I understood that she had got an 
idea Miss Patricia had seen you the night before or maybe 
had a — a date with you for that morning and she made 
Mr. Hobart all excited about it.” He paused and added: 
“It seems they couldn’t get the young lady to tell them 
anything and her father said he’d talk to you. That’s the 
truth, sir, but I hope you’ll say nothing.” 

“You’re giving it to me straight? But why was I 

told ?” Once more Dick checked himself. “I didn’t 

mean what I said just now; I am sure you are both loyal 
to Miss Patricia, as short as the time is that you have been 
here. William, you must contrive some way to reach her 
today and tell her I’ll be waiting this evening. I’ve got 
to see her, and if she doesn’t come I am going to call on her 
father tomorrow morning and have it out with him! — 
What’s that?” 

“Weelliam!” Pierre’s voice called from the kitchen 
porch, and Miles hastened to answer the summons while 
the impetuous young lover slipped away through the gap 
in the hedge by which he had entered. 

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Hobart 
telephoned from the city but no word had come from David 
Zorn, and Miss Drake still wandered about the house like 


DAYLIGHT 


191 


an unquiet ghost. Roger had settled himself in the library 
with a book, the pages of which remained unturned beneath 
his hands, and Andrew smoked moodily on the porch. 

It was nearly lunch- time when Miles completed his 
duties on the second floor. He was starting down the 
servants’ staircase when his glance fell upon the door-plate 
of a room at the end of the hall; a room which had remained 
locked since his arrival and which he had once heard Carter 
refer to casually as “Mr. Roger’s storeroom.” He had 
polished that door-plate only Saturday morning, but now 
there seemed something odd about its appearance and the 
detective bent closer. 

The brass about the keyhole was dulled save where a 
tiny, jagged scratch or two glinted; and there were traces 
upon it of a congealed, greasy substance, at sight of which 
Miles drew a quick, involuntary breath. 

Wax! Someone within the last two days had taken an 
impression of that key-hole, someone who was too care- 
less or in too great haste to remove the evidence of the act. 
What could Roger have stored there which would be of 
such interest to anybody but himself? Could it be that 
behind that locked door, so carelessly passed a dozen times 
a day, there lay some clue to that mystery which seemed 
deepening with each hour — deepening unless the hypothet- 
ical solution which had occurred to Miles in the attorney’s 
home on the previous day, wildly improbable though it had 
appeared, should prove indeed to have a basis in grim 
fact? 

Luncheon was over when the detective, assisting the still 
complaining Carter to clear the table, heard the telephone 
ring again, and with a muttered excusedie hastened toward 


192 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


the library, but the sound of Roger’s voice in reply arrested 
him before he reached the threshold. 

“Yes? . . . This is Roger Drake speaking. . . . What 
is that ?” The receiver fell with a clatter to the desk, but it 
was evident that Roger had retrieved it, for in a moment 
his voice came again, shrill with something very like terror. 

“Who are you? . . .You must be mad! . . . My 
brother?’’ There was a prolonged pause and then the one 
word: “Never!’’ 

It ended in a strangling gasp, a chair creaked heavily, 
and then a dry, muffled sob reached the listener’s ears. 
He peered in cautiously between the curtains to behold the 
scientist sprawled limply in a chair, his arms outflung 
across the desk and his white head pillowed upon them 
while the thin shoulders shook spasmodically although no 
further sound issued from his lips. 

Carter’s querulous summons from the dining-room re- 
called Miles hurriedly, and when next the opportunity came 
for him to approach the library he found it empty. 

Dusk was settling down and nothing untoward had oc- 
curred to break the brooding stillness of the house when all 
at once a woman’s shriek rang out. The detective rushed 
from his room and down the stairs, but just as he reached 
the floor below another door was flung wide in his face and a 
man dashed out, almost colliding with him. Miles halted 
for an instant, taken aback by sheer surprise, for the opened 
door was that of Roger’s storeroom and the man who had 
emerged was Andrew! He was without coat or waistcoat; 
his sleeves were rolled back and his shirt and collar grimy 
with dust, a smudge of which lay across his cheek, giving 
a grotesque twisted expression to his features. 


DAYLIGHT 


193 


* ‘What’s happened?” he roared. “Stop that yowling, 
Hitty, and stand aside!” 

Miles became aware that a thin reedy wail had succeeded 
the shriek, and shaking off the spell which had held him 
transfixed he hastened down the hall . 

At the head of the main staircase the maid was kneeling 
before a recumbent form, wringing her hands and sobbing 
hysterically, but Andrew seized her arm and thrust her 
violently aside. 

“Roger, old man! Here, pull yourself together, Hitty, 
and call Carter or William !” 

So Andrew had not consciously noted that momentary 
encounter! The detective stepped forward. 

“What is it, sir? Oh, is Mr. Roger ill? Can I be of any 
assistance?” 

“Yes. Help me carry him to his room and then get my 
sister. No need to call a doctor; he’s had these attacks 
before and I know how to bring him around.” 

He placed his strong arms about the shoulders of the 
unconscious man and Miles supported the knees while 
Hitty ran ahead to open the door. Between them they got 
Roger Drake into his room and upon the bed where he lay 
breathing stertorously while Andrew opened his collar. 

“Where the devil is Jerusha?” the latter exclaimed. 
William ?” 

“She ain’t in her room!” Hitty volunteered suddenly. 
“I think she went out to the gate to see if Mr. Hobart was 
cornin’.” 

“I’ll tell her, sir.” Miles hurried from the room and 
down to the front door where he encountered Miss Drake 
re-entering. 


194 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Is anything wrong?” she asked. “I fancied that I 
heard Hitty cry out a moment ago ?” 

“Mr. Roger has been taken ill, ma’am. Mr. Andrew is 
with him and he says it isn’t serious ” 

“ ‘III'?” she repeated, aghast. 

“Hitty found him in the hall and we carried him to his 
room. If you need me for anything, ma’am, I’ll be right 
at hand.” 

But Miss Drake had swept quickly past him and up the 
stairs, and instead of following her Miles slipped out into the 
garden where he found Scottie at work among the rose 
bushes. 

“What is it, lad?” Scottie straightened. “Has some- 
thing come off at last?” 

“Something that has all but taken me off my feet, 
Scottie! It jnay be a waiting game for a few days more but 
there’s daylight ahead! Got a pencil?” He pulled a note- 
book from his pocket and tearing out a page he scribbled 
hastily upon it while his colleague waited in silence. “There! 
I don’t care what excuse you make afterward but get down 
to the telegraph office at the station as fast as you can and 
send this wire off to the Chief; tell him to send one of the 
boys down here with the reply the instant it comes, no 
matter at what hour of the day or night! We’ll be ready 
then to stand out in the open and declare ourselves!” 

Scottie read the message slowly and then lifted amazed 
eyes to the other’s face. 

“Man, but we’ve been blind!” he exclaimed. “You say 
that there’s daylight ahead? I’m thinking that for some 
in yonder house it may be a red and fearsome dawn!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 

A FTER despatching Scottie to the village to transmit 
/“A his wire to the Chief Miles re-entered the house by 
the back way and ascended to the second floor. 
The door of Roger’s storeroom faced him, closed once more, 
and did not yield when he turned the knob. Had Andrew 
or another taken thought in the midst of the excitement 
of Roger’s seizure to lock it and that which lay behind it 
away from prying eyes? 

As he started down the hall Miss Drake appeared and he 
saw that she had regained her accustomed poise. 

“We shall not need you, William,” she announced. “My 
brother is subject to these heart attacks and he is quite all 
right now, but of course he will not come down to dinner. 
Tell Carter, please, to place the service for three and arrange 
a tray.” 

An hour passed and Hobart Drake returned from the city 
but there was no sign of Scottie. Had the two met at the 
station? Miles could scarcely restrain his impatience as he 
helped Carter to serve dinner but the occasional glimpses he 
stole at the financier’s face told him nothing. It was set 
and inscrutable and when toward the end of the meal, as at 

195 


196 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


breakfast, the telephone rang he rose with calm deliberation 
to reply to it. 

“That was Zorn, at last,” he announced on his return. 
“He assured me that he was making definite progress and 
would have news for us by tomorrow at the latest.” 

His tone had lacked conviction, however, and Andrew 
glanced up with a sneer. 

“Sounds good but doesn’t mean anything!” he com- 
mented. “Isn’t that what the police always give out to 
the newspapers when they’re stumped? He’ll jolly you 
along and pull your leg for all he can get and in the end he 
will have accomplished nothing. I tell you Patsy will 
return of her own accord or not at all.” 

“‘Not at all’!” Miss Drake’s voice sounded sharply 
above the rattle of silverware as Miles sorted it in the 
pantry. “How absurd, Andrew! She has gone away in a 
mood of petty rebellion, but she is too sane and sweet to 
harbor a fancied grudge and she must know how anxious 
we all are! When this — er — agent finds her I am sure 
Patricia can be brought to see how very foolishly and incon- 
siderately she has behaved.” 

“But didn’t the fellow tell you anything definite, Ho- 
bart?” Andrew demanded. “Are you going to be put off 
with empty promises in a vital thing like this? Was he tele- 
phoning from town?” 

“Yes. He has an appointment to see Wells at his home 
at eleven to get some additional data I left with him today. 
I have every confidence in Zorn, and Wells has also.” 

“Wells is an old fool!” There came the sound of a 
chair being hastily pushed back. “I say, I won’t be of any 
use sticking about here, for there is nothing any of us can 
do for Roger; he’ll sleep like a baby tonight and be right 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 


197 


as rain in the morning. I’m going out and I sha’n’t be back 
until late but I’ll take my key and I won’t disturb you if 
you’ll tell Carter not to put the chain on the door.” 

He strode heavily from the room and in another moment 
Miss Drake and Hobart followed. 

“It’s work for nothing to set the table for them; they 
don’t hardly touch a thing!” Carter mourned, as he and 
Miles cleared away the final debris of the meal. “I’m sure 
I don’t know what’s come to this house, nor where it’s going 
to end! William, you’ve like enough seen plenty while I was 
sick to let you know there’s been trouble brewing even before 
little Miss Patricia took it into her head to go away, and 
maybe she wasn’t far wrong. I wouldn’t talk this way to 
you but you’re a sensible man the same as me and not one 
to be scared off like Edward, that was here before you; it’s 
different with a young girl, though Hitty wasn’t the scarey 
kind when she was Miss Patricia’s age.” 

“What’s there to be scared of?” Miles asked stoutly. 
“They’re queer, all right, as you warned me the first night I 
was here and I must say that something seemed to be worry- 
ing them even before the young lady ran away. I’ve heard 
of the crazy things, too, that the gentlemen did before I 
came, but I’ve seen nothing, barring that fainting spell of 
Mr. Roger’s today. Is he often took like that?” 

Carter shook his head. 

“Only once before and that was just a day or two after 
— after the constable brought Mr. Hobart home when he’d 
been walking in his sleep. That’s what you heard, ain’t 
it, William?” He asked the question with almost pathetic 
eagerness, but the detective shook his head. 

“No,” he replied bluntly. “If you want the truth I 
heard he was either drunk or crazy!” 


198 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Not a thing had he touched that night, for I had the 
only set of keys to the wine cellar!” Carter asserted 
solemnly. “I’ve yet to see Mr. Hobart in liquor, but I 
can’t say as much for Mr. Andrew! Mind you, it’s not 
to be held against him, for in that wild, rough country 
where he’s lived it ain’t to be expected that his ways should 
have been just what he was brought up to, and it took him 
some time to settle down again when he fit's t came back. 
He was a trial to the rest of the family, I can tell you, 
though he’s toned down considerable, especially in his 
language. It was shocking to hear, William!” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Miles observed. “Did he 
bring those fits back with him, too, from Australia?” 

“You mean what happened last Monday?” Carter 
lowered his voice and added in a sudden biirst of confidence: 
“When I got down to the drawing-room Mr. Hobart ordered 
me away and he and Mr. Roger took care of Mr. Andrew, 
but if you want to know my opinion from what I could 
get out of Edward I think he was shamming, though the 
Lord only knows why!” 

Miles glanced sharply at the old man but his tone was 
casual as he remarked: 

“He was playing a trick on Edward, maybe, but there 
was no fake about Mr. Roger’s faint today.” 

“The poor gentleman’s never been the same since the 
first spell I was telling you about, and as for Mr. Hobart, 
I’m glad he’s given up the stock market before — before he 
did something foolish and lost everything, though some- 
times these last few weeks I’ve wished that the money 
never came in the first place! It was that made all three 
of them act queer long ago, and though I almost forgot 
about it in the years between, p’raps they’ve been wrong 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 


199 


in the head ever since. Both Mr. Roger and Mr. Andrew 
living in foreign parts I naturally wouldn’t know, and Mr. 
Hobart being so stern and quiet and wrapped up in Wall 
Street, I didn’t take notice. I’ve heard that lots of folks 
can be wonderful sharp in their business and — and science 
and such, yet be crazier than loons at the same time!” 
He checked himself and added hastily: “Don’t you heed an 
old man’s long tongue, William; I’d have burst if I hadn’t 
got it off my mind to somebody! Like enough it’s me that’s 
losing what wits I ever had! We’d better go on out or 
Pierre won’t keep our dinner hot.” 

“I’m not repeating anything, Carter, but you’ve only 
said what I’ve been saying to myself since I came. How 
do you mean they acted queer when they came into their 
money? I was told how poor they’d been and it would 
be enough to turn anybody’s head to half starve for years 
and then all at once have everything they wanted.” 

“Their heads wasn’t turned, — at least, not that way. 
I remember well the time the news came and though they 
were excited it struck me then that not one of them seemed 
really happy about it or even surprised. They sat up 
half the night — long after Miss Jerusha had gone to bed — 
talking about their plans for the future, and I hung around 
scarcely believing my ears at the good fortune that had 
come.” The butler’s faded eyes had brightened with 
reminiscence. “Mr. Roger was full of the wonderful things 
he was going to study and find out and leave to the world 
after he’d gone, and Mr. Andrew could talk of nothing but 
Australia and the good times coming to him, but Mr. 
Hobart seemed to think only of getting back at other folks 
for all the years of hardship they’d been through; getting 
rich by making other folks poor! It gave me the shivers 


200 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


to hear him, and not one of them had a word of thanks for 
the Providence that had brought them fortune!” 

‘That’s the way with most people, I guess,” Miles 
commented, to lead on his garrulous companion. 

“But not with them after that night.” Carter shook 
his head again at the memory. “If you’d been here then 
you would have thought that there was a death in the 
house! They didn’t talk to each other any more’n they 
had to, didn’t scarcely look at each other and it seemed as 
though there was almost hatred between them! Then Mr. 
Andrew began to have ugly fits of temper that he’d never 
showed before, and other times Mr. Roger would break 
down and go all to pieces right out of a clear sky; only 
Mr. Hobart kept a level head on his shoulders, but he got 
more stern and quiet every day and all at once I noticed 
that the hair at each side of his forehead was turning gray — 
and him only twenty-three! As soon as the money matters 
was settled up Mr. Andrew went off to Australia as if he 
couldn’t get away quick enough, and in another month Mr. 
Roger sailed too, for Europe, and though it was a pity to 
see the family broke up like that, Hitty and me wasn’t 
sorry to see them go, for they’d been like strangers in the 
house and not such that you’d feel easy in your mind to live 
with. But quiet years came after, and comfortable ones, 
and I forgot until this trouble now brought it all back to 
me. But come and we’ll eat; I don’t want Hitty to think 
I’ve been talking. She’s so devoted to Miss Jerusha that 
she gets mad if a word is said about what’s going on under 
our noses now!” 

But Hitty, too, was in a confidential mood that night. 
Long after all the rest had finished dinner and Miles, 
consumed with anxiety as to what had befallen his col- 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 


201 


league, had gone out ostensibly to smoke but in reality to 
patrol the driveway, she sat in the deserted kitchen keeping 
a pot of coffee simmering on the stove and a plate of warm 
food in the oven . 

At last a brisk stride sounded upon the porch and Scottie 
appeared in the doorway. 

“So you’re up still, Miss Hitty!” He forced a note of 
heartiness in his tone. “It’s good to have a body to talk 
to when a man comes in tired and late! Would I bother 
you if I hunted out a wee bite to eat?” 

“It’s here, though much good it’ll be, dryin’ up all this 
time!” Hitty spoke with asperity as she set the meal 
before him. “I’d Ike to know where you’ve been gadding 
sin'ce late afternoon!” 

“To the Junction and back,” Scottie responded literally. 
“This was mighty kind and thoughtful of you, Miss Hitty; 
I’d no hope of a dinner this night! You se‘e, I went to the 
station to find out about some gardening tools that Mr. 
Drake had ordered, and discovered that they’d been left 
off at the Junction by mistake. They said it was only 
about two miles, so I thought I would walk it, but it turned 
out to be nearer ten!” 

“You must be good and strong.” Hitty dropped list- 
lessly into a chair. “Mr. Andrew’s a great walker though 
he used to be lazy enough when he was young, and poor 
Mr. Roger, who looks as if he was dyin’ on hi's feet now, 
wasn’t ever so happy as when he was takki’ the young 
men he taught out for long tramps over the country.” 

“There’s queer talk going around in the village a-s maybe 
you know.” Scottie gave her. a speculative sidelong 
glance. “I wanted none of it, for wherever I work, they’re 
my people; but I could not avoid it, and your speaking 


202 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


just now of Mr. Andrew and Mr. Roger when they were 
young brought it back to my mind.” 

“Clatterin’-tongued fools, that ain’t got anythin’ better 
to do than to talk about folks who wouldn’t notice them 
can always find somethin’ to say!” Hi tty tossed her 
head. “I’m s’prised you’ve been here three days and 
ain’t heard it afore this!” 

“I don’t mean only the queer things that happened 
lately, but there are some that remember when the family 
inherited their money and how strange they acted about 
it, even your lady, Miss Drake. I nearly punched the 
head of one old man at the station who hinted !” 

He paused, tapping his forehead significantly and the 
woman’s face flushed. 

“I remember what some said long ago, but I thought 
that old gossip was dead and buried; as if a body didn’t 
have a right to do as they liked about their own! It was 
just because Miss Jerusha didn’t want to take the money 
when it came.” 

“ ‘Didn’t want it!’ ” Scottie repeated. 

‘‘This ain’t passed my lips, but I don’t want you should 
get a wrong idee about Miss Jerusha.” Hitty leaned 
forward across the table. “I don’t deny that the boys — 
they was only boys then — did act as if they was clean out 
of their heads over it, but Miss Jerusha took the news 
queerest of all. I never did know why, and dost as I 
been to her all these years she ain’t the kind you can ask 
questions of, but she up and refused to touch her share of 
the money at first in spite of all the skimpin’ and savin’ 
she’d been through. Her brothers had a time talkin’ 
her over and they only got her to agree by showin’ her 
what folks would say and it was her duty to fix up the old 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 


203 


place again and live like the family used to. She give in, 
but I know she’s kept track of every cent and ain’t spent 
more’n was necessary, though she’s handed out more to 
charity without no name bein’ mentioned than a soul has 
got any notion of, except me.” 

‘‘She’s a fine woman, the little I’ve seen of her!” Scottie 
asserted warmly, but with immense respect. “I can’t 
help wondering why she never married, with her grand 
looks!” 

“It wasn’t for lack of them that was only too anxious 
to pay her attention, but Miss Jerusha was always stand- 
offish and soon’s they began callin’ regular she showed 
them plain that there wasn’t a chance. They come from 
right good families too, the best i-n the county, but in the 
days when she was tryin’ to make both ends meet there 

hadn’t been anybody ” Hi tty checked herself loyally 

and added: “Afterwards when she wa f s rich I guess she 
was sort of bitter because she’d missed all the fun that 
she’d rightfully ought to’ve had like other girls, and she 
wouldn’t listen to nobody. She’s just lived along here 
all these years with nothin’ to think of except bringin’ little 
Miss Patricia up after her ma died. Now and again it’s 
come to me that she hated the money still in spite of what 
it’s meant to all of them and the good she’s done with it 
for other folks. Many’s the time she’s said it was the root 
of all evil, and she’s acted like it was a — a cross she had to 
bear. Maybe she is touched a little by what the family 
had to go through when she was a girl — proud folks that’s 
always held their heads high can’t stand bein’ poor like 
them that never had nothin’, I’ve noticed — but there 
ain’t a better woman walks this earth, nor a more God- 
fearin’ one, than Miss Jerusha!” 


204 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


"Hello, Jack!" Miles opened the door and then paused 
as Hitty rose hastily and began to remove the empty 
dishes. "I’ve been looking for you, but Rip said you went 
on an errand. Guess I’ll turn in now. How is Mr. Roger 
getting along, Hitty?” 

"All right, I s’pose,” she replied shortly. "Carter’s 
gone to bed long ago so you’ll have to lock up — I’ve got to 
go and look after Miss Drake now. Good night.” 

She nodded and hurried out as though all at once regret- 
ting her confidence, and Miles remarked contritely: 

"I shouldn’t have interrupted you, old man, but I saw 
only your shadow against the window and didn’t know 
Hitty was here. Did you get anything out of her?” 

"All that I could have, I’ve no doubt, and it was mighty 
curious, my lad.” Scottie rubbed his shorn chin in per- 
plexity. " ’Twas about Miss Jerusha.” 

He repeated the gist of what he had learned and Miles 
exclaimed: 

"That dovetails, in a way, with what Carter told me 
tonight of the behavior of the three brothers; Andrew was 
all for himself, Roger obsessed with his hope of scientific 
renown and Hobart money-mad and revengeful against the 
world for their past poverty, but all three acted as suspici- 
ously as though they had stolen the money! If I had had 
an inkling of this at the start I would have looked up that 
English cousin and his will, but things are moving too fast 
now for us to go off on that tack. Don’t go to bed, Scottie; 
I’ll come down for you when the house is quiet and we’ll 
take a chance at a little breaking and entering. There is a 
room upstairs that I’ve overlooked until today and I haven’t 
had an opportunity to tell you about it. I have my skeleton 
keys but if they don’t work ?” 


THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL 


205 


4 ‘There’s a long, stout ladder and a lump of putty in the 
tool house, Owen, and I’ve not forgot how to cut out a 
wee square of window pane,” Scottie observed laconically. 
“Is it one of the sleeping-rooms we’re to burglarize?” 

“Nothing sleeps there except perhaps a reminder of the 
past.” Miles’ tone was very grave. “Our friend Andrew 
beat us to it by only a few hours but he was interrupted and 
it may be left to us to finish his job. If we can even succeed 
in finding out what he was after we will have gone one step 
further toward the truth.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“i HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN!” 


ZE housebreakers, indeed, the two confederates stole 



up the back stairs an hour later and halted before 


the door at the end of the hall. A low light glim- 
mered in a side bracket on the wall but no faintest ray 
appeared from beneath the door of any room occupied by a 
member of the family, and the silence was so profound that 
the creaking of a loose board under their feet seemed to echo 
alarmingly. 

As he drew the skeleton keys from his pocket Miles indi- 
cated the traces of wax which still adhered to the lock, 
then whispered: “Andrew! He wanted to get in here 
mighty bad, didn’t he?” 

Scottie nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and his 
companion oiled the lock and key-hole carefully before 
setting to work. He made no noise, but the minutes 
dragged out interminably while the other watched and 
listened tensely for a possible interruption. He was on the 
point at last of suggesting that they run the risk of Rip’s 
spasmodic vigilance and try an entrance through a window 
when a key clicked faintly in the lock and the door swung 
slowly inward. 


206 


“I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN” 20T 


“Now!” Got your electric torch? Wait till I close 
the door,” Miles commanded; then as a tiny light gleamed 
out: “Good! There’s a bolt on the inside; we can’t be sur- 
prised now, for if the worst comes to the worst we can get 
out somehow by that window, but we’ve got to work fast! 
Andrew may come home at any time and I have a 
hunch that he’ll try to finish then what he started this 
afternoon.” 

“It looks as though he’d made a pretty thorough job of 
it, if destruction was his object,” Scot tie commented drily, 
as the rapier-like thrust of light played about the dense 
blackness of the room. “May the de’il take us if we’re 
not in a museum!” 

Miles had caught up from the floor a bit of faded woven 
material, so old that it fell to pieces in his hands, and stuffed 
it carefully between the door and the sill. Then he turned, 
producing his own torch and sent its rays darting about 
him. 

They were in a huge, low-ceilinged room which had evi- 
dently been long unused for human occupancy, for the 
faded wall-paper was peeling in great strips, revealing 
crumbling plaster beneath, and the woodwork was dingy 
and warped here and there. Two windows shielded by 
Venetian blinds were set in the farther wall, and at the 
right an empty fireplace yawned, surmounted by a sagging 
mantel, while on the left trunks and packing-cases of all 
shapes and sizes were heaped pell-mell, with broken hasps, 
wrenched-off boards, and tops thrown back. From their 
depths a heterogeneous mass of relics and manuscripts 
had been scattered in all directions and the younger man 
did not wonder at his colleague’s exclamation. 

Haughty though fragmentary idols and humble cooking 


208 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


pots, fearsome weapons, bits of crumbled carving, tattered 
hides and strips of fabric whose once garish colorings were 
barely discernible, hobnobbed with strange ornaments of 
tarnished metal and gruesome sections of bone, and among 
them all lay roll after roll of ancient parchment together 
with notebooks of a more modern day. 

“This is Roger’s storeroom,” Miles explained in low tones. 
“All this junk must be the result of his years of research 
work, in addition to the collections he has presented to 
various societies.” 

“He’s welcome to it.” Scottie approached a long, metal- 
lined box and after one glance within promptly retreated. 
“Science is all very well, but when it comes to disturbing the 
dead, Owen, it’s small wonder he doesn’t sleep peacefully o’ 
nights!” 

“It’s a mummy.” Miles gazed briefly down at the small, 
tightly-swathed form and then turned indifferently away. 
“If Andrew found what he was looking for this afternoon 
and had only stayed to try to put things in order again when 
the sound of Hitty’s scream brought him out to where Roger 
had fallen in the hall we are wasting our time, of course, but 
I don’t think he was successful, in spite of the fact that he 
has turned everything pretty well upside down. It appears 
almost like wanton destruction as you said, Scottie; those 
note-books must contain the result of years of study and 
classification; and see how the pages are torn out and scat- 
tered about!” 

“Then it was writing that Andrew was after, and modern 
writing at that, for he’s only thrown the parchments aside!” 
Scottie gathered up a handful of the loose sheets and exam- 
ined them critically. “ ‘Hellenic — Mycenaean — Neolithic — 


“I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN” 209 


Minoan — ’ phew! I’m not surprised that it exasperated the 
soul of the sheep-herder, especially if he was looking for 
something else.” 

“But what was he looking for? That’s what we’ve got to 
find out. What would Roger have written and carted all 
around the world with him that his brother would want 
badly enough to steal? Mr. Wells is a pretty keen student 
of human nature and he has known this family for years, as 
a friend as well as an attorney; he told me that the three 
brothers were devotedly attached to each other in spite of 
their long separation, but except for one conversation which 
I overheard between Roger and Andrew the night I came — 
just after Roger had attempted to kill himself — I have seen 
small evidence of affection on Andrew’s part for any of them. 
He has goaded them consistently about the notoriety they 
have incurred lately, even though he was a contributory 
factor to it, and he seems to take positive delight in seeing 
them wince under his jibes. It may be that Roger is the 
keeper of some family document that Andrew would like 
to gain possession of and so hold the ascendency over them 
all.” 

“A document of such importance would be in a safe- 
deposit vault, lad, and not lugged about with a scientist’s 
notes,” Scottie observed. 

“Not if it v/ere of such a nature that its existence must 
be known by no one outside the family in the event of 
Roger’s death.” Miles’ tone was significant and the two 
stared at each other for a moment in the thin rays of their 
torches. 

“It would not be a matter of money if Andrew is as well 
fixed as the lawyer told you, and I’ve not heard that the 
family had any valuable heirlooms.” Scottie glanced down 


210 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


once more at 'the scattered notes at his feet. “It's not in 
his nature to want anything for sentiment’s sake. As to his 
teasing the other two about making public exhibitions of 
themselves, he didn’t contribute much to the gossip that’s 
been going around unless the houseman did some talking 
when he left, for if you’ll recollect Andrew happened to be 
taken with his *fijt or lapse of mind or whatever it was safe 
at home here where no one else could see.” 

“That was one of the first things that impressed me.” 
Miles nodded grimly. “But that’s neither here nor there, 
and we are wasting precious time. He’s pulled everything 
apart for us but we won’t make the mistake he evidently did 
of trying to sift all these papers; it would be the work of 
days. It’s safe to assume that he was not after anything 
pertaining to archaeology, but some document he thought 
Roger would have hidden or at least put away here, and he 
must have searched his brother’s personal belongings pretty 
thoroughly before he went to the trouble and risk of taking 
a wax impression of the lock of this door and having a key 
made so that he could get in secretly. I don’ t say that Roger 
has hidden any such document here in anticipation of this 
move, but if he should have, it wouldn’t be among his notes 
but where it would be less likely to be found.” 

“Do you see all these odd, wee caskets of metal and 
carved bone?” Scottie was playing his torch over the 
ancient relics which littered the floor. “Perhaps we can 
find one or two that hasn’t been broken open.” 

They fell to their search, but neither in casket, vase, nor 
any other receptacle fashioned by long-forgotten hands 
was there a scrap of paper. As a forlorn hope Scottie 
shook out the hides and lengths of fabric with no result save 


“I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN” 211 


a cloud of dust to reward his pains, while Miles unrolled 
scroll after scroll of parchment in vain. 

It was long past midnight when they desisted at last and 
Miles remarked with a shrug: 

‘'I guess we’d better give it up, oid man. If there was 
anything here bearing on our problem Andrew must have 
made off with it, after all.” 

Scot tie suppressed a sneeze heroically as the dust which 
still floated in the air assailed his nostrils, and replied in a 
strangled voice: 

“Unless there’s a false bottom in one of those trunks or 
packing cases, and we dare not thump them to find out. 
It looks as though we’d come to the end of our rope, but 
Andrew may have been hunting a mare’s nest too, that’s 
a trifle of satisfaction! The mold of the ages is eating into 
my lungs and there’s a musty, spicy reek from that* 
mummy ” 

“The mummy!” Miles struck his hands together softly. 
“It’s the one place we never thought of, Scottie! We’re 
not beaten yet!” 

He darted over to the long, coffin-like case and his com- 
panion followed somewhat reluctantly. 

“The — the person doesn’t appear to have been disturbed 
since the Pyramids were built,” he ventured. “What are 
you aborut, lad? You’re never going to undress it!” 

“It’s Peruvian, not Egyptian; don’t you see the in- 
scription?” responded Miles in a quick, excited whisper. 
“Moreover the wrappings about the head and breast have 
been unwound within a very few years at most and then 
replaced! I should have noticed at the first glance that 
they were loosened and the pigment cracked. That ac- 
counts for the strong, spicy odor you objected to. Give 


212 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


me a hand, old man; this is a valuable relic and even though 
it is copperized a careless touch might damage it irrevo- 
cably.” 

“I have handled stiffs in the morgue and floaters from the 
river in my time, lad, but this is ghoulish business to my 
mind!” Scottie advanced to the other side of the case and 
turned the mummy gingerly while Miles continued to un- 
wind the strips of glazed cloth which swathed the head. 
“Lord, but it’s a woman, a bit lassie, by the size of her!” 

A long strand of straight, black hair had come into view 
and Miles replied: 

“A woman, Scottie; that race were small, anyway, and a 
mummy shrinks, you know. This one is well preserved, 
considering the fact that it has been exposed to the air at 
least once before. Roll it over toward you carefully; db 
you see now how loose the wrapping is?” 

“I’m not looking at it any closer than may be!” retorted 
his colleague. “I’m wondering how you’re going go get 
it decently covered again when you find that there’s noth- 
ing there but the corpse, and I would have you know that 
though I’ve pulled off many a stunt in the old days, play- 
ing undertaker to a creature that was dead when Fergus 
MacErc ruled in Dalriada was not one of them! What 
is it? Man, you’ve not !” 

He halted, awestruck, and the mummy almost slipped 
from his grasp, for Miles had inserted his hand with infinite 
care beneath the displaced fabric which covered the 
shrunken, flint-like breast and had drawn forth a slender 
roll of parchment. Scottie hastily returned his unwelcome 
burden to its original position and strode around the case 
to stare over his friend’s shoulder at the discovery. 

“It’s in figure writing!” he exclaimed disgustedly as the 


“I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN” 213 


roll unwound. “You'd never be able to read it and it 
would do you no good if you did! I've no doubt it’s an 
epitaph, or maybe a prayer to whatever god her relatives 
believed in. Put it back, Owen, it’s defying Providence — ” 

“Defying your grandmother!” Miles interrupted, then 
added quickly in a lower tone: “This message is in Egyptian 
hieroglyphics, Scottie, I know that much! — Egyptian pic- 
ture writing in the wrappings of a Peruvian mummy! — Get 
me a piece of that parchment from the floor, will you?” 

Scottie complied and held both his torch and that of 
his companion while the latter compared the texture of the 
scrolls. At length he drew a quick breath and faced the 
older man with shining eyes. 

“I can’t read a word of it as you say, but by the Lord 
Harry I think we’ve got it! There are professors in town 
who can decipher it for us and be depended upon to hold 
their tongues afterward, and we’ll see that it reaches one of 
them tomorrow! This isn’t real papyrus but a cleverly 
fabricated substitute, you can tell even by feeling it, and 
though the picture writing has been wonderfully imitated 
and carefully faded, and the whole thing chemically pre- 
pared in some way to give the appearance of great antiquity, 
it is a fake!” 

“But it can’t be what Andrew was looking for!” Scottie 
expostulated. “He certainly cannot translate hiero — what 
you said!” 

“Nor would he have known that it was what he wanted 
if he had found it!” retorted Miles. “Can’t you see, old 
man? That was the intention of the person who placed it 
there; that if it were discovered by accident the finder would 
attach no more significance to it than to any of the real 
parchments which Andrew himself threw aside so thought- 


214 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


lessly this afternoon! It is something that had to be pre- 
served and yet must be undecipherable to anyone not a 
student of Egyptology.” 

But Scottie was loth to be convinced. 

“ ‘The person who placed it there,’ ” he repeated, 
shaking his head. “Roger Drake would have noticed long 
before this that the covering of that mummy had been 
tampered with if he hadn’t known when it was done, and 
if he’s as learned in classification as the veriest tyro would 
be, he’d not leave Egyptian and Peruvian relics mixed 
unless ” 

“Exactly!” Miles assented grimly as the other paused. 
“Egyptian picture writing was employed by the keeper of 
this record because it was the most familiar to him of all 
the ancient methods of communication and easiest to copy, 
and it may be that the hiding-place chosen was only tem- 
porary. This mummy has been in Roger’s possession for 
years, and who but he ?” 

“That you will know when you get it translated, Owen. 
This thing gets deeper and deeper, and it may be that 
you’ve jumped to the right conclusion. It seems weird 
on the face of it and yet it is no more strange than all 
that has gone before in this case. — Now, had we not better 
be putting the covering back on the mummy and get out 
of this room? I wonder that Andrew has not returned. 
You don’t suppose he went to town to see the lady who 
turned up here a few nights ago and threatened to come to 
the house and make a row? She’s a person we haven’t 
taken into account in the rush of happenings since.” 

Miles shook his head as he stowed papyrus and parch- 
ment carefully in his pocket and they moved to their places 
on either side of the mummy case. 


“I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN” 215 


“I don’t think any information Maizie could give us at 
this time would have any direct bearing on our problem, 
and although she might prove useful to us I wouldn’t trust 
her now. — There! We needn’t be careful to get the wrap- 
pings back in their original folds, for if Roger should think 
to come in here soon the mess that Andrew has made of 
things would tell its own story.” 

They worked rapidly and in silence, then switching off 
their torches stole from the room, but as Miles relocked 
the door behind them his companion seized his arm. 

“Do you hear that?” Scottie’s husky whisper breathed 
in his ear. “Someone’s up, and there’s a wee streak of 
light coming from that room at the front. Whose is it?” 

“Hobart’s,” whispered Miles in reply. “Flatten your- 
self against the wall and walk as lightly as you can; we’re 
going to look into this!” 

Foot by foot they crept along the hall until they neared 
Hobart’s door, and then halted as though transfixed. The 
voice of Miss Drake, trembling and charged with long 
pent-up emotion, came to the listeners’ ears. 

“It is no use! If we were the only ones concerned I 
would have kept this from you but it shall not be visited 
upon the next generation. I know the truth, Hobart! I 
have always known!” 


CHAPTER XIX 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 

H OBART’S reply to his sister’s revelation was a 
smothered cry, lost in a quick rush of footsteps 
toward the door, and Miles and his colleague had 
only time to regain the shelter of the rear staircase when 
Miss Drake swept across the hall and to her own room, from 
which there came for a brief space the sound of deep, stifled 
sobbing and then silence. 

“So she knows, does she?” Scottie rubbed his chin. 
“I wish to the Lord that we did, but it’s my opinion we’ll 
find out nothing more this night.” 

“No, and we had better get back to our rooms,” replied 
Miles. “I’ll keep watch to see when Andrew returns and 
whether he makes another raid on that storeroom or not. 
If you work in the garden tomorrow morning stay as close 
to the house as you can and I will come out to you at the 
first opportunity.” 

The other nodded and started downstairs while Miles 
tiptoed up to his own room where he settled himself for his 
vigil. It was nearly four o’clock, however, when Andrew 
returned, and his coming was heralded by the rumble of a 

216 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 217 

car out upon the highway. It did not enter the gates but 
stopped, turned and went back the way it had come. Pres- 
ently there came the soft thud of the closing front door 
far below. 

The detective extinguished his light and crept out to 
peep over the banisters as Andrew mounted the first flight 
of stairs and lurched down the hall toward his own room. 
It was obvious that he was far from sober and in the worst 
of humors, for he swore viciously though in an undertone 
while he fumbled with the door-knob. In less than five 
minutes his loud raucous snores echoed through the silent 
house. 

Miles himself slept fitfully, but he was up and about 
his tasks at the usual hour. Carter, seemingly recovered 
at last from his attack of sciatica, served Hobart and Roger 
alone at breakfast, for Andrew sent word down that he 
wanted nothing and Hitty took a tray up to her mistress. 
The scientist was visibly weak and ill, but his brother paid 
him scant attention and, after a perfunctory inquiry or two 
concerning his condition, appeared to lapse into a deep 
and somber reverie, from which he aroused himself at the 
conclusion of the meal only to go to the library and close 
the door after him. 

The detective, watching from the pantry, saw that at 
any rate he did not intend then to take Roger into his 
confidence regarding their sister’s disclosure during the 
night, and after he had cleaned their rooms and the upper 
hall he ventured out of doors in search of Scottie. 

The latter was tying up the vine which the winter’s 
storms had loosened from the trellis work of the pergola 
before the kitchen garden. He looked up with a casual 
nod at Miles’ approach. 


218 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Were you sent out with a message for Rip, William?” 
he asked pointedly, indicating with a swift glance the kneel- 
ing figure at the father end of the pergola. 

“No. To tell the truth I sneaked out for a smoke, and 

seeing you ” Miles paused, at a loss for once, but his 

colleague came promptly to his rescue. 

“I’m glad, for I’ve got a lot of work for him this morning, 
now that his shoulder is better. Rip!” Scottie raised his 
voice and his assistant reluctantly arose and came toward 
them. “Did you fix those glass frames yet, back of the 
garage?” 

“Ain’t had no time, Jack, an’ my shoulder’s mighty poorly; 
cain’t hardly use it, nohow.” He rolled his eyes depreca- 
tingly. “Maybe if I was to sort dem seeds instead ?” 

“And sit down and go to sleep, eh?” interrupted the 
pseudo-gardener grimly. “Those frames have got to be 
fixed today and the sooner the better! Do you want to have 
Miss Drake asking what’s the matter with your shoulder, 
that you didn’t get them set up?” 

Rip went off grumbling and Scottie turned to his friend. 

“Did Andrew do any more searching in the storeroom 
last night?” 

“No, he could just about make his own room. He must 
have found convivial pals somewhere near Brooklea; they 
brought him home in a car about four.” Miles paused. 
“Miss Drake didn’t appear at breakfast, but Roger did 
though he looks like a ghost. I only ran out for a minute 
to tell you that there’s nothing stirring ” 

“Aye, but there is, Owen!” Scottie straightened all at 
once and shaded his eyes with his hand. “If I’m not mis- 
taken, there is something stirring that’s not the morning 
breeze in yonder sumacs by the back road! I thought so! 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 219 


Look you at the braw laddie with his knickerbockers and 
little cap! He has strayed far from the links!” 

Miles looked quickly toward the dense thicket of still 
leafless bushes and uttered a sudden exclamation as for 
an instant a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man attired in the 
nobbiest of pedestrian suits showed himself and beckoned 
with an almost imperceptible gesture. 

“It’s David Zorn! There’s an old wagon-shed on the 
back road behind Grayle’s place. I’ll take him there and 
you follow, Scottie, in about ten minutes!” 

He was gone without waiting for the other’s reply, care- 
fully skirting the thicket to get well behind its screening 
growth before calling softly: 

“Zorn!” 

“It was lucky you appeared, Sergeant!” The private 
detective emerged from the underbrush and shook hands 
cordially. “Don’t think me indiscreet in mentioning that 
I recognized in that exceedingly capable-looking gardener 
a hero whom I worshiped from afar in the days when I 
dreamed of my owh first detective case. I coh eluded that 
the famous Scottie had come out of his retirement to join 
you in your own investigation here, and I have been vainly 
trying to attract his attention for the last twenty minutes, 
in order that he might get in touch with you. Where can 
we talk?” 

“Just down the road here. There’s a place where 
we shall be free from prying eyes and Scottie will come to us 
shortly. I understood the message you slipped into my 
hand Sunday evening, of course; you made quick and clever 
progress, Zorn. Did you trace the — er — bill of lading?” 

Zorn nodded smilingly as they strode along the road tow- 
ard the weather-beaten shed . 


220 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


4 ‘Yes. It wasn’t difficult after the lead which your 
shrewd deductions from little Miss Drake’s message gave 
me. She is at Freedale at the home of a certain estimable 
but somewhat peppery old farmer named Higgs.” 

“Eliphalet!” exclaimed Miles. “His sister Hitty has 
been a maid here in the household for a generation, but I 
never thought of him! How did Miss Patricia happen to go 
there, and why?” 

“Perhaps you had better read her letter first.” Zorn 
glanced about the ramshackle shed as they crossed its 
rotting sill, and seating himself gingerly on an upturned keg 
he produced a small, bulging envelope. “This contains an 
enclosure also which you may find illuminating in that part 
of the case which is your especial province.” 

Miles tore open the envelope and took from it two folded 
slips of paper. The first written in the girlish hand that he 
remembered from the letter to ‘Millicent Armitage’ which 
he had examined was lengthy and slightly incoherent but 
its meaning became clear to him as he read: 

Dear Sergeant Miles: 

Mr. Zorn, who brought credentials from Mr. Wells and says 
he is working with you, will tell you how he found me and why 
I stayed away. I thought it would be safer for everybody if I 
hid myself for awhile but he has made me see that I was wrong 
and I have promised him I will come home this afternoon. I 
had to tell you first, though, that I have broken our agreement; 
I am sending word to Mr. Kemp to meet me and I mean to tell 
him as much as I can without being disloyal to my family. After 
all I have been through I don’t know what to think except that 
we have terrible enemies who will stop at nothing and I am nearly 
crazy! Please guard my father and the others well and find 
out what it is that threatens them before it is too late! Don’t 
let them know what happened to me. I am going to tell them I 
left because they treated me so sternly. I am afraid my father 
would do something desperate if he knew I had been in danger. 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 221 


The paper I am sending with this will show you why I left the 
house without trying to see you and put it in your hands. I only 
found it a little after ten that night. Perhaps it will help you to 
trace the dreadful woman who wrote it and the men who are in 
her pay, especially the one with the tattoo mark on his arm. I 
can’t write any more for Mr. Zorn says I must hurry. He will 
explain everything. 

Hastily 


Patricia Drake. 


“This letter doesn’t tell me much except that the young 
lady is on the verge of hysteria,” he commented. “The 
gist of it appears to pass the buck to you, Zorn!” 

“I don’t think, Sergeant, that you will wonder at the 
hysterical tendency whein you have heard the details of the 
affair,” the private detective replied. “Miss Patricia did 
not tell me what she had written to you but she showed me 
that note which she enclosed with it. That’s your pigeon, 
of course; but it is curious, isn’t it?” 

Miles had unfolded the second note as his companion 
spoke. Unlike the first it was comparatively brief and 
to the point, and although its fine, cramped, shaken hand 
was unlike any that he had studied before during his 
investigation, there was yet something vaguely familiar 
about it which arrested him. Then the words themselves 
took form and meaning before his eyes and the original 
impression passed. 

My dear child, [he read] 

Great trouble has come upon your esteemed father and your 
uncles and compelled them to do the strange things which have 
so distressed you of late. Now they are facing ruin and disgrace 
through no fault of their own but you, my dear, can save them. 

I have known your family for many years and it is my duty 
to tell you the truth. I cannot come to you for I am an infirm 
old woman and live at some distance, but my car will be outside 
your gate at eleven tonight and my servants are to be trusted to 


222 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


bring you safely to me. I will make you comfortable for the 
night and you may return in the morning. 

Watch for the flash of a light twice in the road and be prepared 
to come at once, telling no one, or I cannot help you. Have 
faith in me for my only wish is to keep you and yours from greater 
suffering. 

A friend. 

“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Miles. “Anyone but an 
nsophisticated child like Miss Patricia would have seen 
at a glance that this was a trap! She was up in the air, 
though; didn’t know whom to trust or what to believe, and 
the whole situation was driving her beyond the point of 
reason. Tell me what she told you, Zorn; what happened 
to her?” 

“She says that the whole family went to their rooms 
about ten Saturday night and when she turned on her light 
she saw that note lying on the floor just under her opened 
window. She never thought of doubting the good faith 
of the ‘infirm old woman’ who sent it, but changed into 
more suitable clothes, threw a few things into a bag and 
stole down to the dark drawing-room to wait for the signal. 
It came promptly and Miss Patricia slipped out the door 
and down the drive to where a limousine stood at the 
gate with one man behind the wheel and another holding 
the door. 

“After that things happened too quickly for her to utter 
a cry. The man took her bag respectfully enough but 
suddenly threw it into the car, clapped his hand over her 
mouth and bundled her in also and they were off. She 
remembers struggling, but a sweetish-smelling cloth — 
chloroform, probably — was placed over her face and then 
everything was a blank. 

“When she came to herself there was a rush of cool 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 223 


air in her face, for the window behind the driver’s seat 
was down and the two men were talking. She had sufficient 
presence of mind to keep quiet and listen, fortunately, for 
they were arguing as to whether to tie her up or not. It 
was the driver who objected, saying that she would be 
dead to the world for another twenty minutes anyway, 
and they were likely to be stopped when they passed 
through the town because their infernal lights weren’t 
working properly. 

“Miss Patricia’s heavy beaded handbag was still on her 
arm and without stopping to think she smashed the man 
beside her over the face with it, tore open the nearest door 
and jumped, rolling over and over into a ditch. They 
cursed and halted, but another car was coming and that 
gave her an opportunity to scramble up and over a low 
stone wall into a mass of willow shoots growing by a brook. 
Their lamps went out completely and they had only one 
small flash-light to guide them but they thrashed about 
hunting for her and swearing at each other and more 
than once they almost touched her where she lay half- 
fainting from fright. 

“They gave it up at last and drove off, but it was hours 
before she dared move and then she was afraid to approach 
her home even if she had known the way, thinking they 
would be waiting to seize her. She stumbled along in the 
darkness with sense enough to keep to the main road but 
wondering where she could take refuge, for strangers would 
have asked questions she couldn’t answer and if she could 
reach any friends they would only have communicated 
with her people and she would be sent back. She had a 
horror of that, fearing her return with the story she had 
to tell would precipitate the very danger at which the 


224 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


note had hinted, for after the failure of their plan to kidnap 
her she thought her father’s enemies would stop at nothing. 

‘The girl hasn’t any idea how far she walked, but she 
passed only scattered farms so it couldn’t have been in the 
direction of the town the men had mentioned. All at once 
a moving- van came rumbling along, and on an impulse 
she hailed it; she says the idea flashed across her mind that 
if she could find out the name of the nearest village and 
get word to Mr. Wells he would keep her confidence and 
come to take care of her, at the same time sending a warning 
to you. 

“She took a chance, oi course, but the men on the van 
were decent enough and when she asked them where they 
were going and they told her ‘Freedale’ Miss Patricia 
thought at once of this Higgs and got them to give her a 
lift, saying that he was her uncle and dying; that the wagon 
sent to fetch her had broken down and they would be paid 
well if they would take her there. 

“Whatever they thought, they let her climb in and on 
the way she arranged with one of them to take that note 
to Wells’ house when they got back to the city in the 
morning, telling them he was her uncle’s lawyer, and 
scribbling it as you deduced on a bit of paper the boss of 
the outfit tore out of an invoice book. They reached Free- 
dale at dawn and Miss Patricia got down at the first 
farmhouse that had smoke coming out of the chimney, 
dividing between the men all the money in the purse 
which she still clung to;, it must have been about twenty- 
five dollars as near as she can remember. 

“When they had driven away a farmer puttering about 
the barn directed her to Higgs’ place and she must have 
had a time getting the old fellow and his wife to take her 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 225 


in, but she convinced them that Hitty had sent her and 
would be along in a few days and explain. It seems that 
the woman had unconsciously paved the way by writing 
them of some trouble here, and as she holds an overdue 
mortgage on their farm they were willing to do her a favor. 
I found Miss Patricia there late yesterday afternoon, 
although Higgs was ready to set the dog on me, and she 
told me what had happened and gave me that letter for 
you.” 

“Did she recognize either of the two men who ab- 
ducted her?” demanded Miles. 

“No. She never caught a glimpse of their faces, but 
the driver flashed an electric torch on her as she ap- 
proached, and when the other flung her traveling-case into 
the car she saw that his sleeves were rolled up and a device 
of some sort was tattooed on one arm. The whole thing 
happened instantaneously, and she didn’t make out what 
it was.” 

“Has she any recollection of their voices?” 

Zorn shook his head. 

“They spoke only in husky whispers in the car and when 
they growled curses at each other while they were hunting 
for her after she escaped she was too frightened to remember 
their tones, but she thinks she might know them again.” 

“Scottie should have heard this; I wonder why he hasn’t 
joined us,” Miles remarked after a reflective pause. Then 
he added: “However, tell me how you located Miss Pa- 
tricia.” 

“A lucky guess about the indentations on the scrap of 
paper she had used for that message to Mr. Wells started 
me in the right direction,” Zorn replied. “When I left you 
and the lawyer I found there was such a village as ‘Brook- 


226 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


side' in New Jersey and caught the first train out there. It 
wasn’t difficult to locate a new family named ‘Slocum’ and 
as soon as I appeared and mentioned the van which had 
moved her stuff out, the lady of the house overlooked the 
fact that it was Sunday and thought I was an adjuster come 
to discuss her claim for damages en route. Among a lot of 
irrelevant details I got not only the name of the storage 
warehouse company but a fairly accurate if uncompli- 
mentary description of the moving-men who had almost 
wrecked her furniture. 

“I returned to town, saw Wells again and obtained a 
note from him to Miss Patricia, which would gain her con- 
fidence when I found her. Wells ’phoned Drake, too, saying 
he was sending me here for instructions, and I came that 
evening as you know. 

“Yesterday morning I went to the Gotham Storage 
Warehouse and found the outfit I wanted just loading up 
for another trip. The boss was reluctant to talk at first, 
but when he learned that the young lady had run away and 
I had the goods on him he came through, describing the 
house at Freedale where he had left the girl. I took the 
early afternoon train, found the farmer, and he directed 
me to Higgs’ place. 

“Miss Patricia couldn’t be persuaded to come home at 
once, declaring that she had communicated with a friend 
and must wait until he replied, but she promised to return 
this afternoon without fail, although forbidding me to notify 
her father in the meantime that I had discovered her. I 
did ’phone Drake when I got back to town, however, that 
I would have news for him today, and later I will call him 
up again and prepare him for her coming.” 

“Did you see Wells last night at eleven?” asked Mile8. 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 227 


“Yes. I suppose Drake mentioned it in your hearing? 
He told me earlier when I ’phoned that the attorney would 
have additional data for me, but I had intended to report 
to Wells anyway. It came near being a disastrous appoint- 
ment for me!” he laughed somewhat ruefully. 

“ ‘Disastrous’!” 

“When I left his house somebody tried to hold me up; 
hit me with a blackjack, and only the soft felt hat I was 
wearing saved me from being knocked for a goal! See?” 
Zorn removed his cap and displayed a strip of plaster where 
his smooth, blond hair had been clipped away. “The fellow 
must have been a tyro, for he never told me to put up my 
hands or in fact uttered a word. He just sneaked up from 
behind and landed on me, but something must have scared 
him or he lost his nerve for he took to his heels and was gone 
before I could recover sufficiently to give chase. I went to 
the nearest drugstore and had this patched up, but it is one 
on me, isn’t it!” 

“It certainly is,” agreed Miles, but there was a peculiar 
quality in his tone. “Are you going back to the city now?” 

Zorn nodded and rose. 

“Sorry not to have made the acquaintance of Scottie, 
but I’ll hope to on another occasion . Have you any message 
for Wells?” 

“No, but I wish you would deliver these letters in person 
for me; they’re both of such importance that I daren’t 
trust them to the mails, and time is an essential factor.” 
Miles drew two envelopes from his pocket as he spoke. 
“The first is to Professor Nigel Lorton, at the Archaeo- 
logical Museum. Tell him it is a confidential matter of 
immediate moment and he will understand. The second 
is for a gentleman of another type, a certain Carl — other- 


228 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


wise known as ‘Baldy’ — Yaeger. You’ll find him living 
over a print shop — the address is here — and it may be 
necessary for you to use a little finesse to convince him that 
you really come from me ” 

“Not Baldy Yaeger, the !” 

“Exactly,” interrupted Miles drily. “There’s nothing 
out against him now, but the boys kept after him on general 
principles until I got them to lay off, and he is grateful. 
My letter explains itself, though you might tell him that 
I’ll drop in tomorrow.” 

“Right-o!” Zorn held out his hand as they paused before 
the door of the shed. “I’ll take the road to the left and cut 
through to the station. Let me know if any other little 
thing comes along, Sergeant; I shall be glad to take it on.” 

Miles expressed his thanks to the private detective for 
the aid he had rendered and then hurried back to the Drake 
estate. Behind the sumacs where Zorn had stood he found 
Scottie arguing in some discomfiture with Dick Kemp. 

“It’s no use!” the latter cried triumphantly. “I’ve heard 
from Miss Patricia, and I might have known from the be- 
ginning that you weren’t an ordinary gardener nor the 

chap who calls himself ‘William’ a house servant ! Oh, 

there you are! Say, who are you fellows, anyway?” 

“What, sir?” Miles inquired, and the young man chortled. 
Then his face became suddenly serious. 

“I know why you are here, and Miss Patricia told me I 
could trust you, but I want to get in on the game too, I 
want to help! I’m going to become a member of this family 
no matter what is hanging over them or what my people 
say, so it’s natural I should be interested in clearing up this 
infernal mystery. Perhaps I may be of more use to you 
than you imagine.” 


DICK DECLARES HIMSELF IN 229 


“You can help us now if you will tell us who first hinted 
to you that Miss Patricia had gone away,” suggested Miles. 

“That information won’t get you anywhere.” Dick 
shrugged. “Old Grayle next door and I were talking and 
somehow I gathered the idea that Patricia had disappeared. 
It wasn’t from anything definite that he said, but I inferred 
he had learned something to that effect from Roger Drake.” 

“And what did Miss Patricia tell you about it?” Scottie 
asked. 

“Only that she had gone to this old farmer — Hi tty’s 
brother — because she was angry at an incident that occurred 
here at home and she would tell me all about it when she 
saw me. I am going to take my car for her now and bring 
her back.” Dick unconsciously squared his shoulders. 
“I want to have a talk with you two chaps later, but you 
might just as well realize that it’s no good putting me off. 
Whatever the game is, from now on I declare myself in!” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE SPEAKING EYE 


I T was late that afternoon before Patricia put in an 
appearance and there was a new, shy dignity in her 
bearing that silenced the reproof upon her aunt’s lips, 
yet caused her to study the girl covertly when she explained 
her supposed escapade by voicing her rebellion against the 
strict authority which had been exercised over her. Andrew 
encouraged her half-jokingly, but he, too, eyed her with 
something like speculation in his gaze, and only Hobart, in 
his relief at having his daughter safe at home once more, 
betrayed neither reproachfulness nor curiosity. 

Roger had appeared at luncheon more wan and fragile 
than ever, but later Miles had caught a glimpse of him 
tottering down the drive, muffled to the ears in a greatcoat 
in spite of the mild spring weather, and wondered what 
errand could have dragged him forth. The return of 
Patricia, however, turned his thoughts to other channels, 
and the arrival within an hour of an unexpected caller 
banished all idle speculation for the time being from his 
mind. 

The caller was Miss Ora Hawks, but the transformation in 
her appearanace was so remarkable as to make even the 
230 


THE SPEAKING EYE 


231 


detective gasp in amazement. If she had not quite 
succeeded in regaining the lost years of her youth she had 
made a victorious effort to mitigate the inroads of time. 
The severe gown had given place to one of soft, graceful 
lines which concealed the stout curves of her figure, the 
straight hair was fluffed becomingly beneath the broad 
sweep of a modish hat, and her eyes, freed from the shell- 
rimmed glasses, were limpid and deeply blue. Even the 
nasal twang in her voice had lowered to a gentler tone as she 
asked for Miss Drake, and the self-assertiveness that had 
been the characteristic note in her former manner was gone. 

The butler served tea in the drawing-room as on the 
previous occasion Miles had done, but the detective knew 
that although Carter had been sent to summon both Hobart 
and Andrew, only the latter appeared and that reluctantly 
enough. Miss Drake left them together after a brief 
period and went up to her niece, who had professed fatigue 
and was reclining in her own room, and Miles loitered about 
the hallway below trying in vain to catch a word of the con- 
versation between Miss Hawks and her former swain. 

All at once the heavy portieres parted and the visitor 
reappeared. It was doubtful if she was conscious of the 
pseudo-houseman’s shadowy figure in the background as 
she made for the front door, calling back over her shoulder 
with a quick, convulsive catch of her breath. 

“No, don’t trouble, please! I can find my way. Tell 
Jerusha I — I will see her soon. Goodbye!” 

It was not the words nor the tone in which they were 
uttered which for a moment held the detective rooted to 
the spot, but the dazed look of half-incredulous wonder upon 
the woman’s face and the glint as of dawning fear in her 
eyes. 


232 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


He did not have long to speculate upon it, however, for 
scarcely had the door closed and the purr of a starting motor 
come from without when there was a crash in the drawing- 
room followed by the hiss of flame and a man’s bellow of 
profanity mingled with pain. 

A pungent odor of smoldering cloth assailed his nostrils 
stiflingly as Miles dashed the portieres aside to behold 
Andrew tearing off his scorched coat from which a curl of 
acrid smoke arose and stamping out a tiny, bluish flame that 
darted across the rug from beneath the overturned tea- 
table. 

“ that three-legged stand!” the latter 

growled between his teeth. “Help me get this off, William, 
never mind the rug. I don’t care if all the gimcracks in 
this room go to hell! There! That’s done for! Throw it 
out, the stench !” 

“I am afraid you are badly burned, sir!” Miles ventured, 
for Andrew’s shirt cuff hung in charred tatters when the 
singed coat had been removed , and his hand and wrist were 
puffed and scarlet. 

“Tried to catch the spirit kettle when the table 

tilted and the blazing alcohol ran up my sleeve! Why 
will women go in for this silly rubbish when there is a sensible 
kitchen stove to heat water on? It’s a miracle the blasted 
lamp didn’t explode!” He groaned in spite of himself, and 
seizing a serviette he wrapped it about his injured arm. 
“Don’t putter about with that stuff like an ass! The rug’s 
only singed and if the tea things are smashed, so much the 
better! Open the windows or the smoke will get all over 
the house.” 

“Very good, sir.” The detective obeyed, leaving the 
wreckage of the tea table, and when he returned Andrew was 


THE SPEAKING EYE 233 

fumblingly removing the contents of the pockets frdm the 
ruined coat. 

“Here, throw this out and then call Carter to help you 
clear up the mess before my sister makes a — scene about it!” 
he commanded. “Serves her right for leaving me to play 
host to that circus horse! I am going to tie up this arm of 
mine.” 

When Carter appeared he loudly bewailed the demolition 
of the cherifehed porcelain, but set to work with a will to 
remove the debris, and the room was in a semblance of order 
when Miss Drake re-entered. She had evidently learned of 
the mishap from Andrew, for her lips were tightly com- 
pressed in a way Miles had come to know, and she made no 
comment other than to direct the arrangement of the furni- 
ture that the blemish on the rug might be temporarily 
concealed. 

This being accomplished Miles sought Scottie once mbre 
and found the latter chuckling to himself as he clipped the 
hedge. 

“What’s the joke? Did you see Miss Hawks armed for 
conquest? It affected Andrew so that he upset the tea 
table.” 

“I didjiot!” Scottie still smiled broadly. “I’m thinking 
of the march the young people have stolen on their families, 
and I would give the fairest ‘Susan McCready’ rose in my 
greenhouses in Jersey to see the face of that fish-eyed Martin 
Kemp when he hears the news! Dick brought the girl back 
as he promised but she’s not ‘Miss Patricia’ any more; they 
bundled old Higgs on the running-board and made for the 
minister’s house before they left Freedale, and it is young 
Mrs. Kemp who has come home, though it’s to be a secret 
for a while.” 


234 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


‘‘I’m glad of it,” Miles said slowly after a pause. “Aside 
from the fact that the boy is a fine fellow and eligible in 
every way it may be a fortunate circumstance for her. When 
the storm breaks it might sweep everything in its path, and 
it is well that our little client will have a champion. The 
Kemps for the sake of their own social standing in the com- 
munity will use their influence to quell any further scandal 
now that willy-nilly they are allied to the Drakes.” 

“Scandal may not be the worst of it!” his colleague re- 
minded him. 

“I don’t know. I can’t see my way clear yet to com- 
pounding a possible felony; but should something of the 
nature of what I suspect prove to be true there may be 
extenuating circumstances, and if a plainclothes dick like 
me were supposed to indulge in human sympathy, Scottie, 
I admit that mine would be with the immediate victims in 
this case. You’ve retired long since, and although I have 
been confidentially loaned to Mr. Wells, I am officially on 
leave, so we’re our own masters.” 

“Lad, you’ve been corrupted!” the other exclaimed, but 
there was a latent twinkle in his eyes. “Have you forgot 
that we’ve a volunteer assistant who’ll need to be reckoned 
with? When Dick told me of the marriage he reminded me 
of what he had said to us this morning and threatened if we 
didn’t take him on he would start an investigation of his 
own. I thought it would be best to keep him quiet, so I gave 
him a hint that it wouldn’t be a bad plan to patrol the 
grounds tonight. The chances are that he’ll only encounter 
Rip, and Won’t know who will be th$ most surprised of the 
two! — There comes Roger Drake up\the drive from the 
gate. He’s a sick man and no mistake!” 

The scientist was walking more steadily than when he had 


THE SPEAKING EYE 235 

left the house, but slowly, and he paused every few steps to 
rest. 

“He should never have gone out,” Miles observed as 
they stood watching him. “I don’t want to appear out of 
character, but perhaps I had better go and offer to help 
him in. Tell Dick Kemp to do all the sleuthing he wants to- 
night but to keep away from the immediate vicinity of the 
house or he may be summarily ordered off the place. I’ll 
try to see you later.” 

He hurried across the lawn to the driveway, for Roger’s 
steps were becoming more slow and halting and it did not 
seem possible that he could mount to the veranda unaided. 
As the detective approached he raised his eyes, and in them 
there seemed to be that same strange, half-incredulous, 
haunted look which had been revealed in those of Miss 
Hawks when she took her hurried departure only a short 
time before. 

“Excuse me, sir, but may I help you?” Miles asked 
deferentially. “I saw you coming and I thought that you 
might perhaps feel a little weak still.” 

“I do, William.” His voice was all but cracking with the 
strain he exerted to keep it level, and all at once Miles was 
aware of the extreme inward agitation of the man. “I shall 
be glad if you will give me your arm. Thank you. I — 
I went farther than I meant.” 

He leaned his weight heavily upon the younger man, who 
could feel the thin fingers closing about his elbow like bands 
of steel, and his feet began to drag, although it was evident 
that he was making a supreme effort to force them to his 
will. The detective could more easily have carried the frail 
body, but Roger summoned his remaining strength to nego- 


236 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


tiate the steps of the veranda, and Hobart Drake himself 
opened the front door. 

“What is this?” he exclaimed as he hastened to support 
his brother on the other side. “Have you fainted again, 
Roger? It was most imprudent of you to go out. — Where 
did you find him?” 

He addressed the last question to Miles, but the latter 
did not reply until they had crossed the threshold with 
their sagging burden. 

“I don’t think Mr. Roger fainted, sir. I saw him coming 
up the drive and he seemed ill so I hurried around the 
house ” 

“Hobart!” With unexpected vigor the weak man 
thrust them aside with a sweeping gesture of his long arms 
and stood erect, his attenuated frame seeming to rise to an 
almost unreal height. “Hobart, I have found out who it is! 
I know — I know the — the nemesis !” 

His voice had thickened oddly and the last word ended 
in a choking cry as he wavered and then suddenly pitched 
forward on his face. 

Miss Drake’s startled exclamation front the staircase 
was lost in Hobart’s sharp command: 

“Don’t try to lift him, William; turn him over. Great 
heavens! He has had a stroke!” 

The body turned rigidly beneath their hands and Roger 
Drake lay staring wildly up at the ceiling, the left side of his 
face twisted into a hideously grotesque mask, the arm 
crooked , and the leg drawn up in a manner there could be no 
mistaking. 

Miss Drake swept down to kneel beside him, and Patricia 
stood in the upper hallway wringing her hands, but Andrew 
brushed her roughly aside and descended in reckless leaps. 


THE SPEAKING EYE 


237 


"Is it paralysis, Hobart? Shall I ’phone the doctor? 
Can he speak?” His ruddy face had paled and his voice 
was grave and shaken. 

"The doctor, by all means, as quickly as you can get 
him here!” Hobart responded. "He was trying to tell me 
something when all at once he lost consciousness and fell 
before we could catch him, as though he were struck 
down! Roger! Can you speak? Do you know me?” 

Not a muscle moved in the distorted face and the eyes 
still stared fixedly upward in an unwinking gaze, but it 
seemed to Miles that for an instant a gleam of reawakened 
intelligence shot across their dulled surface only to vanish 
in a flash, leaving them glazed and expressionless as those 
of the dead. 

For an hour all was excitement while the stricken man 
was carried to his room and placed in bed. Carter admitted 
the physician when he came and the detective was able to 
catch only a glimpse of his portly figure and snatches of the 
phrases uttered in pompous tones to Miss Drake as he later 
took his leave. 

" in these cases, my dear lady, nothing Pos- 

sibly in a day or so , possibly in ten , unless of course another 

stroke only absolute quiet and look in again 

tonight.” 

Hobart had established himself as nurse and, although 
Miss Drake demurred , she was for once overruled and only 
permitted to take his place while her brother descended to 
snatch a hasty bite in the dining-room. Miles hovered 
about in the hall just outside the sickroom, beset with the 
question which haunted his mind. 

There could be no doubt that Roger’s seizure was genuine 
enough; but had he been conscious when Hobart spoke to 


238 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


him, even though powerless to reply? Was he able to hear 
and understand? 

While he pondered, Miss Drake appeared suddenly in the 
doorway and seeing him, beckoned. 

“William, I must go downstairs for a moment to speak 
to Mr. Hobart. Will you come in and sit beside Mr. Roger? 
There is nothing to be done for him, but I do not like to 
leave him alone. I will return immediately.” 

Secretly thanking his lucky stars that he had been at 
hand Miles entered and seated himself Reside the still form 
outstretched upon the bed . It appeared that no change had 
taken place and the filmed eyes still stared blankly into 
space, but the instant Miss Drake’s footsteps had died 
away down the stairs the detective bent forward: 

“Mr. Roger!” He spoke in a low, compelling tone. “I 
am here to help you. You must trust me and there is not a 
minute to lose. If you realize what I am saying close your 
right eye /” 

Remembrance of this test, the possibilities of which he 
had learned from a police doctor, had returned to his mind 
and he held his breath. Would it prove of avail in this case? 
Would Roger respond? Then a wave of exultation swept 
over him, for the eye-lid quivered and slowly, flutteringly it 
closed! 

“Good! Now, sir, I can’t take your message to your 
brother for you, the thing you were about to tell him when 
you were overcome, but do you want to see him? Can he 
guess the name you were trying to speak?” 

Miles waited but the eye stared unblinkingly although a 
spreading moisture had come into it and the pupil seemed 
to enlarge and darken with the effort at expression. 


THE SPEAKING EYE 


239 


“Is there something you think I can do? I’ll keep your 
confidence, sir, whatever happens. Can I help?” 

The eye closed, more quickly this time. 

“Do you want anything? Is it in this room?’* 

The lid remained open, but the eye itself moved toward 
the right as though striving to see through the blank wall 
beside which the bed had been placed. Its papered surface 
was unbroken by even a picture, and on the other side of it 
Miles knew there was only the linen closet in which for a 
brief space on the eventful night of his arrival he had 
hidden. 

“It is not in this room? Do you mean the linen closet?" 

The eye rested upon his face with a mute but unmistak- 
able appeal and then turned once more desperately toward 
the wall, and a swift inspiration came to the detective. 
Beyond the closet the back hall ran the width of the house, 
and in its center was the locked door behind which lay the 
relics of the past in the impotent guardianship of the woman 
centuries dead. 

“You mean your storeroom, don’t you, sir? You know 
that your belongings in here have been searched? Do you 
know also that the lock of your storeroom has been tam- 
pered with?" 

Miles drew a deep breath, for at each question the eye 
had winked rapidly and an eager glint had shot across its 
dulled expanse. A step sounded upon the stairs, and the 
detective leaned closer till his lips almost touched the rigid 
ear. 

“The room has been ransacked, sir, and everything 
thrown around. Did you know that?" 

The eye widened and into it came a look of such utter 
despair that Miles obeyed a sudden impulse as the steps 


240 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


approached nearer. It could do no harm, for Roger would 
be helpless for many days, and it might mean much to gain 
his confidence with this secret method of communication 
between them. 

“I intended to tell you, sir, when I found a new key in the 
lock and the door swinging open. The only thing that 
hasn’t been touched is that long box that looks like a mummy 
case. It’s safe still. I can fix that door so it can’t be 
opened again by anyone till you are well, and I won’t 
mention it to a soul, even the family. Shall I do it, sir?” 

The eye winked spasmodically and rested on his for an 
instant while a single tear welled forth and rolled down the 
waxen cheek. Then swiftly the glazed film over-spread it 
once more like the hood of a falcon, and the gaze returned 
blankly to the ceiling. Roger Drake had spoken though 
his lips were dumb. The secret compact was made. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE WHISPERED NAME 


T HE next day was a busy one, for scarcely was it 
light when Miles presented himself at Miss Drake’s 
door with a woebegone countenance and one side of 
his face convincingly swollen by means of an improvised cot- 
ton plumper which he had inserted inside his cheek. 

“IPs my tooth, ma’am,” he explained superfluously. 
“It ached all day yesterday, but I couldn’t ask for leave to 
have it treated when there was such trouble in the house. 
I wouldn’t have waked you up now but I just can’t stand 
it any longer, and the milkman will give me a lift to the 
station if you can spare me to run to town and see my 
dentist. I’ll get back as quick as ever I can.” 

Permission being granted him he hurried downstairs, 
removing the plumper as he went, and readily obtaining a 
lift from the good-natured milkman he was soon rattling 
townward in the early train. On arrival he went straight 
to Headquarters, where he remained closeted with the 
chief for an hour or more and then journeyed uptown to the 
impressive offices of an actors’ agency, whose proprietor 
was an old acquaintance. 

“You ain’t givin’ me mucn to go on, Owen,” he corn- 
241 


242 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


plained when the visitor’s errand had been explained. “If 
she was in the legit, now, or vawdville, or even on one o’ 
the burlesque wheels, that cockney accent would make it 
easier to trace her, but still there ain’t so many picture con- 
cerns with studios right in town. A full-figured blonde, 
you say, and youngish. Um! Calls herself ‘Maizie’? She 
may be ‘Gwendolyn’ in the studio, but she ain’t a lead 
under any name or I’d have spotted her like a shot. I’ll 
do what I can for you.” 

“Remember if you locate her, Bernard, that it is press- 
agent stuff I want; she won’t kick to the director after I have 
had a talk with her, for it is in her own interests that I want 
to see her and she is sharp enough to realize it. Even if she 
is out on location somewhere, try to get her in for an hour at 
lunch- time, and arrange to have her meet me in the lobby 
of the Admiral. The producers won’t mind a bit of good 
free advertising for even one of their minor players, and if 
they don’t fall for the press stall let me know when I ’phone 
you and I’ll come clean and put the screws on. You’ll 
hear from me about twelve- thirty.” 

“I’ll get busy right away, but mind, I ain’t promisin’ 
anything,” Mr. Bernard observed. “Don’t bank on me, 
for this here Maizie may be just an extra and then good- 
night! If she’s got any kind of a rep in the game, though, 
I ought to be able to get a line on her by then. So long.” 

It was a far cry, although not such a great distance, from 
the bustling theatrical district to the quiet, dignified 
purlieus of the Archaeological Musuem, where in his sanctum 
Miles found Professor Nigel Lorton. Spread before him on 
his desk was the spurious papyrus taken from the wrappings 
of the Peruvian mummy which the detective had entrusted 
to Zorn to deliver on the previous day. 


THE WHISPERED NAME 


243 


When he had shaken hands and waved his caller to a 
chair the old professor removed his spectacles and tapped 
his knee thoughtfully with them. 

“My dear Sergeant, ” he began at last while the other 
waited expectantly. “This document is, as you assumed 
in your note, an imitation in texture and symbol of the 
ancient Egyptian, and whether it be a hoax or not, I confess 
that it is the most remarkable record it has ever been my 
privilege to examine.” 

“You found it easy to translate, sir?” Miles asked. 

“Fairly so, although the terms used were unfamiliar to 
me. I have made a transliteration for you also, and with 
your knowledge of the subject of which it treats you will 
be able to determine if it is the hallucination of a dis- 
ordered mind or the revelation of a brilliant if abnormal 
one.” 

“Certain events have already led me to believe that the 
latter is the correct conclusion, although this is pure 
conjecture on my part, not knowing the gist of it,” the 
detective remarked. “How long ago would you judge 
this document to have been manufactured?” 

“I should say that it had been started many years ago, 
when the writer’s knowledge of papyrus and the methods of 
imitating it had been studied but before he had gone very 
deeply into the translation of the ancient language itself. 
His phraseology is halting and labored at first, with one 
or two minor mistakes, but later it becomes more and 
more facile, and as a whole is the production of a savant 
whose ability should have led him to profound achievements 
in the world of science!” The professor spoke with the 
enthusiasm of the fanatic upon the subject which had 
engrossed him for a lifetime and added: “Madman or 


244 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


mere crank, I would give much to meet him and more 
to be able to preserve this document among my own private 
archives, but I realize of course the utmost delicacy of the 
matter. Now permit me to explain it to you.” 

It was well toward noon when the conference ended and 
Miles left the building with a feeling of exultation not 
unmixed with awe at the very enormity of the secret so 
fortuitously disclosed. His triumph, too, was tempered 
with a realization of the huge difficulties ahead to bring 
the case to a successful conclusion and avert a tragedy. 

Mr. Bernard had exerted himself to some purpose in 
the brief period allotted to him in whiqh to locate the 
motion-picture artiste. Miss Maizie Gray, it happened, 
was playing second leads with the Luxor Company, but 
not working for the next few days. She would be delighted 
to meet the press representative, Mr. Owen Miles, at the 
Admiral for luncheon, and armed with a huge bunch of 
violets he appeared in the lobby of that most cosmopolitan 
of hotels at the appointed hour. 

Maizie, too, was prompt but her professional smile 
changed to one of good-natured derision when she recognized 
her host. 

“ ’Ullo!” she exclaimed with the utmost sangfroid as 
she buried her nose in his fragrant offering. “I might ’a’ 
knowed there was a do somewhere; little Maizie isn’t 
such a shining light yet on the silver sheet that the press 
are keen on giving her free space! Wot’s the lay, old dear? 
I suppose ’e sent you?” 

“No. He doesn’t even know I’ve looked you up, and 
we’ll both lose by it if you split on me,” he returned. 
“Let’s go into the grill for a bite and we’ll talk it over. 
I’m taking a chance, but I am banking on you to play fair, 


THE WHISPERED NAME 


245 


and if I sized you up correctly the other day you know 
your way about a bit, and aren’t going to have anything 
put over on you.” 

“That I’m not, my lad!” She shot him a humorously 
shrewd glance as she seated herself in the chair the waiter 
captain obsequiously held for her and reached out a plump 
hand for the menu. “I wasn’t on that you were in the 
gyme when I spoke to you in the road the other day, but 
I knew you were following Mr. Ensee Grayle and his 
nobs, Mr. Andrew Drake. Wot’s the lay?” 

“I can’t tell you that, but Drake’s going to double- 
cross you; you guessed that, didn’t you?” Miles had 
lowered his voice confidentially. “You’re clever enough to 
realize I have proof that he means to double-cross me, 
too, and that’s why I’ve come to join forces with you if 
we can reach an agreement. He was just putting you 
off, my dear, hadn’t the least intention of meeting you 
this week but was only trying to keep you from making a 
scene as you threatened and spilling the beans. Suppose 
we give our order and then we can talk in peace.” 

That detail attended to tjhe detective went on: “There’s 
a lot you’ll have to take for granted but you must use 
your own judgment about trusting me. If you show up 
with your little story before the right minute you’ll queer 
the whole thing and we won’t any of us get our bit, but it 
is only right that you should be on the spot to appear 
when I tip you off, and we two can rake in all the swag 
for ourselves.” 

“Wot price the narks taking a hand?” she whispered. 

“I thought you’d guessed already that it’s not that 
kind of a play!” Miles laughed. “Our birds wouldn’t 
dare squeal; they’ll pay up, no fear! You’d be safe enough, 


246 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


anyway, for you haven’t been in on the game, remember. 
All I want you to do is to be within call and ready day or 
night when you get the message to come up to the Drakes’ 
house and make your little scene before a select family 
party and the others that are in on this. What you’ve 
got to tell couldn’t hurt you, anyway, and you’re an 
artiste with a reputation. You’re only protecting your 
own rights, and I’ll be willing to give you half of my 
rake-off to make just a bit for myself and get even for 
being had.” 

“Sounds fair enough,” Maizie admitted slowly. “You’ve 
come out honest, and strike me pink if I don’t think 
you’re on the square with me. You’re on to the gyme and 
I’m not, but I know my man and he’s taken precious good 
care of his own skin in the past. I never worked with him, 
though he may have told you different; not that I wouldn’t 
have, but he didn’t want me to get on to his lay and have 
it on him, and then he always did the square thing till 
now. You’re wanting me on location looks like straight 
goods, and I’ve a bit of time to myself for the next few 
days. I’m no squealer, but Gawd knows I’ve a score to 
settle with him myself even if I was gone on him once, 
and little Maizie’s right there when it comes to lookin’ 
out for Number One!” 

The arrival of their lunch put a temporary halt to further 
discussion of the subject, but later over the sweets Miss 
Maizie Gray showed herself to be a person of quick decision. 

“I’ve myde up my mind to put my money on you, old 
top!” she announced. “They sye ’arf a loaf, you know, 
and I’ll tyke your tip, but I’d like to know ’ow big the loaf 
is.” 

“That’s what none of us can tell,” he responded frankly. 


THE WHISPERED NAME 


247 


“It’ll run into the thousands, anyway, and I’ll diwy with 
you as I promised, which is more than he'd do.” 

“No, ’e’d give me the go-bye, the wye ’e did afore,” 
she admitted with equal candor. “When do you want me 
to go to Brooklea and where’ll I put up?” 

“At the only hotel in the place, the Mansion House. 
You can change your appearance a bit, can’t you? What 
name will you use?” 

“The Mansion ’Ouse! Wye not the King’s Arms?” she 
laughed. “Wot price a widow named Mrs. Tggins ’oose 
own mother wouldn’t know ’er, and who keeps to ’er room 
until she ’ears from you?” 

“Good! Take a train around seven tonight and I’ll phone 
when your cue comes.” Miles attended to the check and 
they rose. “I can depend on you, Miss Gray? If you let 
Drake know what's up we’ll all lose out, but I’ve put my 
cards on the table and told you frankly why I did so.” 

“’Ere’s my ’and,” she replied briefly. “If it’s a do, it’s 
no worse than I’d ’a’ had from 'im, so I’m tykin’ you on. 
’Ow long will I ’ave to wyte in that bloomin’ ’ole?” 

“Not long,” the detective promised. “We’ll queer that 
little game and make a bit out of it ourselves before many 
hours have passed.” 

Taking leave of her he made his way down to a dingy 
neighborhood and to a row of squalid brick buildings , in one 
of which he mounted a narrow, musty staircase beside a 
basement print shop and rapped a signal upon the door that 
faced him. 

It was opened at once and a cadaverous little old man, 
whose shining hairless head explained his nickname, peered 
out expectantly. When he recognized his visitor he greeted 
him with a jagged- toothed smile. 


248 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Come in, sir! I’ve been waitin’ for you all day. Man, 
but what you sent me by that young fellow yesterday is a 
imasterpiece! It took me back to the old times, and I don’t 
mind sayin’ that just for a minute I wisht I was still — ! 
But you’ll want to know how it was done?” 

“You know the method, Baldy?” 

“Every step o’ the way, sir, except for the paper itself. 
That’s better than we was ever able to turn out, though I’m 
not sayin’ I couldn’t have done as well with the rest of it. 
There’s one thing has me goin’; ’twas not the work of any 
of the old gang or I’d have known it when I first lamped 
it and yet it’s many a year since it was made. Here’s the 
way of it ” 

“Wait a bit.” Miles stopped the garrulous old man. 
“You’re sure it’s the queer? That’s all I’ve time to find 
out now — that, and if this, in a general way, is how it was 
done.” 

He thrust into ‘Baldy’ Yaeger’s hand a few pages of 
notes which he had scribbled earlier in the day, receiving in 
exchange the twenty-dollar bill that had been the cause of 
Rip Lunt’s altercation, and the ex-convict chuckled. 

“Queer? That greenback would fool many a cashier 
and government man, too, but not an old-timer like me! — 
Yes, you’ve got the right dope on it here, sir, and if I’d 
known the boys who put it out I’d liked fine to have worked 
with them — when I was in the game myself, that is! — 
Thanks, sir, but I’d have been right glad to look it over for 
you, anyway, after all you’ve done for me! I — I hope you’ll 
drop inagainsome time, even when there’s nothing I can tip 
you off about. A fellow like me gets lonely when even his 
old pals forget.” 

A roll of bills of strictly legitimate origin had changed 


THE WHISPERED NAME 


249 


hands, and with a promise to look up his underworld ally 
for a purely social hour in the near future Miles took his 
departure. 

It was almost dinnertime when he reached Brooklea, but 
instead of returning at once to the Drakes’ he paid a call 
at a neat, old-fashioned cottage nearer the village. The 
lengthening twilight had been quite swallowed up in 
darkness when at last he skirted the drive and entered the 
kitchen door of the house over which for so long mystery 
had brooded. 

Carter and Pierre were hurrying about the kitchen 
busied with the serving of dinner, and as he passed the ser- 
vants’ dining-room Scottie poked out an anxious head and 
beckoned imperiously, but Miles waved an emphatic dis- 
sent and hurried up the back stairs. 

At the first landing he came upon Hitty. 

‘‘You certainly took a nice holiday for yourself, William, 
toothache or no!” she remarked acidly. “Carter’s lost 
what little sense he’s got, along with everything that’s been 
happening, and I’ve had a time of it. Now the fam’ly are at 
dinner, an’ I’m supposed to be sit tin’ with Mr. Roger, 
though why in creation. anybody’s got to keep watch beside 
a graven image !” 

“Let me take your place for a minute, anyhow,” he 
whispered. “The gardener wants to speak to you down- 
stairs, and you can be backibefore anybody knows the differ- 
ence. Mr. Roger’s condition hasn’t changed since last 
night?” 

“No, an’ I don’t know’s it’ll be any harm if I do leave him. 
It gives me the creeps to see him lyin’ there starin’ up at 
the ceiling as though he could see things we couldn’t!” 


250 THE TATTOOED ARM 

She shivered . “I’ll be right back before the fam’ly leave the 
table.” 

She scuttled off downstairs, and Miles softly entered 
the sickroom and took the chair beside the bed. He leaned 
over and spoke gently: 

“Mr. Drake! I told you last night that I was here to 
help you and yours. You can hear me?” 

The eye which had turned eagerly toward him at his first 
word closed swiftly, gratefully, and then opened wide. . 

“I meant what I said; the past is buried and must not be 
resurrected, if only because of the atonement which has 
been made and for the sake of those who will come after, 
but there is one who must be silenced, the one whose name 
you tried to tell your brother yesterday. I knew — I guessed 
— but I must have your assurance that I am right. You 
must trust me, for from the beginning although you did not 
dream it, I have been here in the interests of you and your 
family alone. The man you fear, the man who can bring 
ruin and worse upon you all — is this he?” 

Bending more closely over the prostrate form he breathed 
a name, his tense voice scarcely above a whisper. 

There was a pregnant pause while Roger Drake’s eye 
seemed to dilate. Then unwaveringly, inexorably, the lids 
closed. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE GRAVE OF THE PAST 

T HE family were still at the dinner table when Hitty 
relieved Miles and he risked the use of the library 
telephone for a hurried call to the city. Then he 
joined Scottie in the servants’ quarters. 

“Man, but Fve news for you!” the latter exclaimed. 
“That young assistant of ours has found what’s been under 
our very noses these many days, only we’d not the sense to 
look. Do you mind when Rip told us of meeting two men 
in the garden, one of them with something over his shoul- 
der? Last night while we were gossiping in my room like a 
couple of old wives they came again and Dick frightened 
them away but not before he’d discovered the spot they were 
after, though little he guesses what lies there. We’ll beat 
them to it tonight, but how we’re to get rid of the lad — !” 

“I’ll find a way,” Miles responded briefly. “It’s only the 
last link in the chain, anyway, but it will be best for him and 
his little bride to be far from this house later tonight. We’ve 
reached the end of the case, Scottie, and except for two of 
the neighbors as witnesses and one outsider whose testimony 
will be generally corroborative we’ll be strictly a family 

251 


252 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


party — if only the message I expect from the Chief comes 
in time.” 

“ ‘Tonight’!” Scottie echoed. “And me as much in the 
dark as a blind man!” 

“I haven’t time to tell you now, old man, but you’ll get 
on to the game, all right, if you follow my lead. I suppose 
Dick Kemp will be oa the job as soon as he can get away 
from his own people?” 

Scottie nodded. 

“I’ve a date to meet him in the summer house at half- 
past eight. He says the men didn’t recognize him last night, 
but the minute he caught sight of them he thrashed about 
in the bushes, talking as though there was someone with 
him and they’d missed their way, with a bit o’ something 
aboard, too. The rascals made a quick getaway, as they 
did the time Rip hailed them, but Dick swore that they 
carried a pick and shovel.” 

“I thought as much. Did he recognize them himself?” 

“No. They had halted by the summer house and 
seemed to be arguing, and when I went there this morning 
I found one or two of the boards ripped away. I nailed 
them back into place and learned later from Hitty that it 
had first been built, along with the pergola and the other 
gewgaws that deface the place, just a while before Hobart 
Drake brought his bride home, the mother of little Miss 
Patricia. Why did you send Hitty down to talk to me 
when you came home?” 

“To get her out of my own way.” Miles added: “When 
young Dick meets you, tell him to hurry and pack his grip 
and wait with his runabout in the back road till Patricia 
joins him. I want him to take her away from Brooklea 
for a few days, but keep in touch with Wells. I’ll attend to 


THE GRAVE OF THE PAST 253 


that part of it and then you and I will examine that summer- 
house for ourselves. I can guarantee that we’ll not be 
troubled by any intruders tonight. If the Chief’s message 
doesn’t get through in time we’ll have to throw a mighty 
bluff, but it wouldn’t be the first time, and the Chief hasn’t 
failed us yet.” 

After dinner, in the servants’ dining-room, Miles was 
passing through the lower hall when Andrew Drake emerged 
from the library fuming with exasperation. 

“Confound that pettyfogging Wells!” he exclaimed to 
Miss Drake. “He’s coming down on the ten o’clock train 
tonight and insists that I meet him at the station. Wants a 
private talk, it seems, before he sees the rest of you. You 
don’t suppose that Hobart has been up to any more ridicu- 
lous actions about his property, do you?” 

“Sh-h!” Miss Drake warned. “Hobart may hear you. 
John Wells has been a true friend for many years, Andrew, 
and his request can only be in our own interests; surely you 
will not be ungracious to him! I will go and tell Hitty to 
see that a guest room is in readiness and arrange for Rip to 
have the car at the door on time.” 

She vanished up the stairs and Andrew grumblingly fol- 
lowed her as though to go to his own room. Hobart was 
nowhere in evidence but as Miles turned Patricia appeared 
in the door of the music room. 

“I heard!” she whispered. “Oh, Sergeant, why is Mr. 
Wells coming and where have you been all day? When is all 
this dreadful suspense going to end?” 

“Tonight, for you, my dear young lady,” the detective 
replied. “I thought it best that you return yesterday, but 
your marriage has made a difference, and I want you to go 
away again now, tonight. Mr. Kemp will be waiting for 


254 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


you on the back road in his car in an hour and you must 
take your traveling-case and slip out and join him. He will 
keep in touch with me and when you come back in a few 
days it will be to find that all the trouble has passed and 
there is nothing before you but happiness. You have 
trusted me in this case when it must have seemed to you 
that I was making no progress and I could promise you 
nothing. Will you not have faith in me now that I give you 
my assurance all will be well?” 

She held both her hands out to him impulsively. 

“Oh, I have! I have always had faith in you even when 
it seemed to me that I was living a nightmare and I could 
scarcely be sure of my own sanity. You have found the 
terrible old woman who tried to have me abducted and the 
man with the tattooed arm?” 

“He will never cross your path again,” Miles replied 
evasively. “One thing more; not only was your own sanity 
never in question, but that of your people also. You will, 
I am sure, be readily forgiven for this second runaway and 
when you return you will learn everything. I will see that 
the way is clear for you and you must slip out as quietly and 
quickly as possible. In the meantime, will you permit me 
to wish you every happiness?” 

At a little before eleven Miles and Scottie from their post 
in the summer house saw the big car with Rip at the wheel 
drive to the front door and then stationward, and scarcely 
had it turned into the highway when from beneath one of 
the seats of the rustic retreat the detective drew forth a 
crowbar and a couple of shovels. The wind was rising and 
moaning through the trees and the stars were obscured. 

“ ’Tis a fine night for ghouls and gravediggers!” Scottie 


THE GRAVE OF THE PAST 255 


muttered as he cautiously pried loose one of the boards 
which he had nailed down only that morning. 

“You’ve named our occupation, old man,” returned his 
companion. “No human body lies here, though it is a 
grave I think we are opening up for all that; the grave of the 
past, and a pitiful, mistaken past it was! Now the next 
board. It won’t be necessary for us to tearidown the sum- 
mer house for we’re not going to take out what I believe lies 
buried here but just to make sure of it and then cover it up 
again till we can destroy it utterly.” 

“You said something yesterday about compounding a 
felony, Owen lad.” The older man paused in his labors. 
“I’m under your orders and it’s for me to say nothing, but 
have you thought of the innocent who may have suffered 
for the guilty in this past that you call 'pitiful’ and 'mis- 
taken’?” 

“I have, and I’ve made sure that no one suffered for it 
except those who were responsible , and a generation of shame 
and remorse has been their portion, with all they gained by 
their efforts turned to dust and ashes.” Miles’ tone was 
very grave. “I haven’t taken you into my confidence 
as much as I might have, Scottie, though you’ve worked 
with me like the pal you are, but I wasn’t certain myself 
until today, and in a little while now you’ll know every- 
thing. I can tell you this, though; the old mystery that 
we started out to investigate is only the beginning; the rest 
of it that I hope to unearth tonight, not here beneath 
our feet but later under that roof, is a devilish outgrowth 
from it, a crime as cleverly conceived and heartlessly 
executed as any we’ve solved in our work together. There! 
The cleared space is big enough now, and we don’t want to 
weaken the supports of the summer house. We ought to 


256 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


be able to dig quickly in this soft loam, and we’ll throw 
the waste dirt over the railing just here where we can fill 
it back in tomorrow.” 

They set to work with a will and soon had a hole waist 
deep where the floor of the summer house had been. There 
was no sound save the occasional grate of a spade against a 
loose stone, for Scottie would not ask questions and his 
companion was absorbed in the impending issue. The car 
returned from the station and disappeared into the garage, 
from the upper floor of which Rip’s light shone out for a 
space and then vanished, while after a time those in the 
house also were extinguished. The wind, fraught with the 
increasing threat of storm, howled about the arbor and 
lashed the bare trees to fury as though nature itself were 
setting the stage for the final scene. All at once Scottie 
paused and straightened. 

“I’ve struck something, lad,” he announced in an 
unconsciously lowered voice. “Did you not hear the ring of 
metal?” 

Miles leaped down into the excavation beside him and felt 
about with his hands. 

“It’s an old box,” he responded. “A sort of chest. We 
daren’t lift it out even if we could, but I feel the hasps 
and one hinge. I don’t believe it has been disturbed for 
years, but I’ll dig around it until I can lift the lid up enough 
to find out for myself what it contains. Watch the road 
just beyond the gates, Scottie; a car ought to be along pretty 
soon running without lamps and a motor as silent as they 
can make it, but it will stop and hoist one green light for a 
minute at intervals until we see it and get out there. 
Some old friends of yours will be on board.” 

It took longer than the detective had anticipated to free 


THE GRAVE OF THE PAST 257 


the lid from the earth which was packed down upon it, 
however, and longer still, after the corroded padlock was 
forced, to raise it until its contents were revealed in the 
shielded light of his hand torch. Scottie had strained his 
eyes in vain into the darkness looking for the green signal, 
and now curiosity impelled him to peer over his friend’s 
shoulder. 

“Machinery!” he exclaimed. “Rusted and broken as 
though it had been crushed with a sledge-hammer! Is that 
what our marauding friends have been so anxious to 
find?” 

“They hoped that it would be in better condition, I 
think,” Miles responded. “If I’m not mistaken they ex- 
pected to unearth it in good enough shape to be repaired 
and put once more to its illegal work or at least copied, but 
those who buried its fragments here made sure that it would 
be out of commission once and for all. Can you guess 
what it is?” 

“ ’Tis not a wee printing press, though I own I’ve had 
that in mind since you took the counterfeit bill from me.” 
Scottie shook his head slowly. “If I had a chance to try to 
assemble it, now ?” 

“You’re close enough to the truth, old man.” Miles 
wedged down the lid once more and began heaping the loose 
dirt back upon it. “If this had not been as completely 
demolished^as it has, and you were a mechanical expert, I 
doubt that you could re-assemble it, for it was the only one 
of its kind in existence, the invention of a man who will 
never build another. But there, thank heaven, is the 
green light! Put the boards back over the hole as well 
as you can and follow me!” 

Scottie obeyed, and when he reached the swift, darkened 


258 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


car with its three grimly business-like occupants, the 
briefest of greetings were exchanged. 

“You understand, boys, that you’re on a confidential 
case, and Scottie is here just by accident?” Miles spoke 
with authority, but there was a note of uncontrollable elation 
in his tones. 

“Sure we understand all right, Sergeant.” The burlier 
of the trio replied with immense respect. “We’re to keep 
under cover where you station us till you give the word 
and point out our men to us, and then all we’ve got to do 
is make the pinch and beat it; and keep our mouths shut 
afterward! It’ll be a big thing for us and for the Depart- 
ment, and I can tell you the Chief hasn’t felt so good since 
the federal crowd beat us to that last S.O.S. from Scotland 
Yard. We’re all set and waiting for orders.” 

“All right, Farrell; you and Marks come with me. I’m 
going to post you indoors and then get one of the neighbors 
to join us whom I shall want as a witness. Scottie, jump 
in and let Barker drive you down to the Mansion House 
where I want you to send word up to a Mrs. Higgins that 
you’ve come to bring her back here. Don’t mind about 
the lateness of the hour, I can assure you that the lady 
won’t, and she is waiting for just that message from me, but 
remember you are friends of mine and it’s all a private little 
game. While she is getting ready, call up 130 Brooklea and 
insist on speaking to the lady of the house; she, too, will 
be prepared for your call. Tell her Miss Drake is ill and 
has sent for her. She will use a conveyance of her own to 
reach here, but Mrs. Higgins will return with you and 
Barker, and see that you make it snappy. Both of you 
come in with her, there may be work for you. Got it 
straight?” 


THE GRAVE OF THE PAST 259 


Scottie had already taken his place beside the driver in 
the police car, and now as it turned and shot off down the 
road Miles led his two companions around to the rear of the 
house and in at the kitchen door. 

“To the front,” he whispered. “See where that low light 
shines from the newel post? — That’s right, now into the 
library. You, Marks, get behind that tall bookcase here 
by the door, and this curtain ought to hide Farrell. I’ll 
only be gone a minute. Don’t show yourselves unless 
somebody tries to make a getaway. If they do, man or 
woman, nab them and hold them until I come, but don’t let 
anyone get near that telephone there, or make any disturb- 
ance that will bring the hick constable banging at the door. 
Ready?” 

“Fine and dandy, Sergeant.” Farrell’s husky whisper, 
muffled still more by the folds of the curtain behind which 
he had taken his stand, came sibilantly through the dark- 
ened room. “Let’s go!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


BEFORE DAWN 



URIOUSLY enough, John Wells was still fully dressed 


when Miles knocked softly upon the door of the guest 


room which had been assigned to him, and after a 
brief, low- toned colloquy he descended to the library, now 
brilliantly lighted, where he found Enslee Grayle. 

“My dear sir!” He extended a cordial hand to the bewil- 
dered naturalist. “This is an unpardonable hour at which 
to have disturbed you, but you are our poor Roger’s closest 
friend and I took the liberty of suggesting you, among all 
the neighbors of my clients here, as the one who would most 
willingly respond in this sad time.” 

“ ‘Sad’! ” Grayle echoed, pulling his light coat more 
closely over his hastily-donned clothing. “Roger is not — !” 

“His seizure has not yet taken a fatal turn, if that is 
what you mean , but it is well to be prepared . That is why I 
sent William for you. But here come the others.” 

“What is the meaning of this?” Hobart attired in a robe 
and slippers appeared in the doorway. “Grayle, you here? 
William said nothing — !” 

“Hello, Grayle?” Andrew’s voice sounded from behind 


260 


BEFORE DAWN 


261 


his brother. “You downstairs again, Wells? William told 
me you wanted me. What’s up now?” 

“I do want you, Andrew, and you, too, Hobart.” The 
attorney’s tones were low, but there was a quality in them 
seldom heard outside the courtroom. “If you will wait untif 
your sister joins us ?” 

“Patricia!” The cry came from the stairs, and Miss 
Drake tottered into the room and fell into the nearest chair. 
“She is gone again! Her bed has not been slept in! John 
Wells, you have sent for all of us. Why is Mr. Grayle here 
and what have you to tell us?” 

“Very little, my dear Jerusha. Your new servant, 
William, is here to explain the situation.” 

Miles had entered quietly, and Andrew turned with a 
snarl. 

“ ‘William’, eh?” He added an oath. “Who the hell 
are you, anyway?” 

“A special agent employed by a member of this family 
to protect its interests, sir, and with the full approval of 
Mr. Wells,” Miles replied, still respectfully. 

“You, John?” Hobart took a step forward. “By gad, 
you’ve gone too far!” 

“It is the end!” Jerusha Drake bowed her proud head 
and buried her face in her hands. 

“I suppose that lunatic upstairs went to you and you 

saw a chance of making a fat fee out of us, you 

muck-raker!” Andrew advanced threateningly upon 

the attorney. “This is what comes of employing a criminal 
lawyer to handle an estate! Take your cheap private 
detective and hop it before I throw you out!” 

“I was consulted not by the ‘lunatic upstairs’ if you are 
referring to Roger, but by my ward Patricia Drake, who 


262 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


is safe and in good hands,” Wells responded. “You have 
forgotten that by the terms of her mother’s will I am 
co-guardian with her father. As for my ‘cheap private 
detective,’ Sergeant Owen Miles from Police Headquarters 
will speak for himself!” 

“Really, I feel that I am de trop !” Grayle rose 

slowly from his chair. “I am sure that neither Mr. Wells 
nor the family will wish me to be a witness to this !” 

“No, you don’t!” Andrew leaped for him. “Can’t 
you see it’s a plant? That we are done for? You’ll take 
your medicine the same as me !” 

“Are you mad?” The spare, white-haired figure threw 
him off with unexpected strength, and turned in offended 
dignity to Hobart. “Mr. Drake, whatever your family 
differences, will you permit a law-abiding neighbor to be 
insulted in your house? Your brother !” 

“He is not his brother!” A nasal, feminine voice wrung 
with anguish startled them all as Ora Hawks slipped 
through the opened French window from the veranda 
and pointed an accusing finger. “That man is not Andrew 
Drake!” 

At the same moment Maizie Gray, flamboyant even in 
crisp new widow’s weeds entered the door with Scot tie 
and the impassive Barker behind her. 

“Not — not Andrew!” Miss Drake seemed oblivious to 
the arrival of the trio as she lifted astounded and horrified 
eyes to the face of her old friend, but Miles drew the 
attention of all to the latest comers, and in so doing received 
the surprise of his own career. 

“Andrew Drake died in Australia three years ago,” 
he said gravely. “This lady will be able to inform you of 
the identity of the impostor.” 


BEFORE DAWN 263 

He indicated Maizie, but she drew herself up with a 
laugh. 

“ ’ Im ? I never laid eyes on ’im until larst week, but 
I can tell you right enough ’oo that w’ite-’aired old cove is! 
’E’s Ben Gray, my lawfully wedded ’usband, as left me 
and the Salisbury Repertory Company in Victoria two 
years ago!” 

The erstwhile naturalist sprang for the door, but Miles 
recovering himself called sharply: 

“Farrell! Marks! Here are your men!” 

Gray struck out blindly, but Marks seized him in an 
iron grip, and Scottie tore off the white wig, disclosing the 
sleek, close-cropped black hair which more naturally 
accorded with the culprit’s bright, dark eyes and stalwart, 
athletic frame. Farrell was watching the man who had 
posed as Andrew Drake and who had all at once regained 
control of himself. He stood waiting quietly with a half- 
smile upon his lips. 

“Ben!” Maizie screamed shrilly. “I only knowed you 
two months when I married you and then you gyve me a 
narsty throw, but strike me pink if I’d ’a’ put the narks on 
you! Wot — wot’s the charge, orficer?” 

“Bank robbery in New South Wales three years ago, 
lady,” Marks replied succinctly. “We’ve had all the dope 
relayed by wireless and he’ll be held for extradition. 
Want to come along too and tell your story to the Chief?” 

“I’ll be responsible for her, Marks,” interposed Miles. 

“ ’Ow, you will, will you?” She turned upon him 
furiously. “Myde a bally fool o’ me, didn’t you ?” 

“No, but you’ll do that for yourself if you’re not care- 
ful!” he warned her in a hasty aside that was pregnant 
with meaning. “There’ll be a train along for town shortly. 


264 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


I told you that you weren't in on this game but you’d 
get your bit just the same , didn’t I ? Go back to your work , 
and if the Chief wants to see you, all you’ve got to do is 
swear to your marriage and how little you knew about 
your husband beforehand. There’ll be a thousand pounds 
in this for you if you’ll go back to Australia when your 
engagement is finished and just forget that you ever saw 
Brooklea; get me? Or are you still soft on that crook 
who played you for a sucker?” 

4 ‘Not ’arf!” She wrinkled her small nose shrewdly. 
“I’m on. The gyme ’ere fell through, but it’s worth that 
much to the toffs to keep it dark? Right-o! I’ll finish 
this blooming picture and ’op it for Melbourne. ’Im fed 
up with the styge, any’ow, and a thousand quid will set 
me up in a bit of a shop I’ve ’ad my eye on since afore I 
came to this country. But mind you see me in town, 
old dear, and settle up, or little Maizie may remember 
Brooklea after all!” 

With an impudent nod she made for the door, and 
Barker at a sign from Miles permitted her to pass, then 
followed to drive her back to the Mansion House. 

For a moment there was silence, while Jerusha’s eyes 
met those of Ora Hawks in a half-dazed stare, Hobart 
glared murderously at tke impostor, who smiled back at 
him undaunted, and the attorney’s troubled gaze was 
lowered. 

“Marks, got the bracelets on Gray? That’s right; 
now take him into the drawing-room* across the hall till 
Barker comes back with the car. Scot tie will let you 
know if we need you before that,” Miles ordered. “Farrell, 
roll up the right sleeve of the man who calls himself Andrew 
Drake and take off the bandage; he didn’t burn himself 


BEFORE DAWN 


265 


badly enough when he deliberately upset the tea-table to 
obliterate the letters tattooed upon his arm.” 

A gasping cry came from Jerusha, but Miss Hawks 
moaned: 

“That was what deceived me so thoroughly when he 
was putting on his coat out in the garden the first day 
I called!” 

The pseudo- Andrew set his teeth, but he made no show 
of resistance when the bandage was removed , and on the 
still inflamed surface of his arm appeared the blurred, 
intertwined letters ‘H’ and ‘O.’ 

“You thought they were your own initials, did you 
not, Miss Hawks?” Miles asked gently. “Forgive me for 
reopening an old wound, but that touch of sentiment for 
a time blinded you to certain inconsistencies which the 
Drake family themselves had failed to note?” 

She nodded dumbly in an obvious effort to control her 
emotion, and the detective went on: 

“In reality the initials are his own, as far as the police 
records of Australia show. His name is Hugh Osborne and 
he, too, is badly wanted but not for the same crime as his 
present accomplice. Will you tell Mr. Wells and your old 
friends here when the first doubt of his identity entered 
your mind?” 

“I — I hardly know!” She felt about blindly, and the 
attorney hastily assisted her to a chair. “When I met him 
face to face I was amazed, revolted! I could not believe 
that even twenty years in the roughest sort of country 
could so have coarsened him; that the boy I remembered 
could have become so boorish, so changed and degraded 
even in feature. When I saw the letters tattooed on his 
arm my first impression vanished; I suppose there is no 


266 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


fool like a woman who has cast sentiment out of her life 
and I have paid dearly for my folly! Then I called here 
yesterday and talked with him, still under the spell of an 
old dream, but as I grew reminiscent and he betrayed an 
utter ignorance beyond mere forgetfulness of the incidents 
I mentioned a wild suspicion came into my mind. I spoke 
of my initials on his arm, and though he swore that he had 
had them tattooed there in remembrance of me I was still 
unconvinced. I felt that I must be going mad and yet I 
had to make sure. I laid a deliberate trap for him and he 
fell into it! 

“I realized then that he was an impostor beyond all 
doubt but something seemed to snap in my brain and I don’t 
know how I got out of the house and reached my home. I 
have been like one distraught until you came to me this 
afternoon, Sergeant Miles, and showed me where my duty 
lay. Forgive me, Jerusha, but would you and Hobart have 
believed me if I had spoken yesterday? Would you not 
rather have thought me insane?” 

Hobart was silent, but Jerusha’s sense of justice, even in 
her agony, made her bow her head. 

“I am afraid I would, Ora! I cannot believe even yet 
that we have been so blind! But you tell us that Andrew is 
dead!” She turned suddenly to Miles. “You have absolute 
proof of that?” 

He nodded in silence, and all at once she sprang from her 
chair. 

“Then he — that fiend — is his murderer! Is that what 
you have been trying to tell us?” 

The accusation brought a threatening mutter from the 
impostor, but Miles interposed quickly: 

“No. We have positive proof that Andrew Drake died a 


BEFORE DAWN 


267 


natural death and this man came here to impersonate him. 
But this has been a trying hour for Miss Hawks and we need 
not prolong it. You are willing to swear if necessary to the 
facts you told me this afternoon which convinced you this 
man was here under false pretenses ?” 

“I am more than willing to make an affidavit to that 
effect whenever you and my old friends here desire it.” 
Miss Hawks rose. “Now may I go? I came as I promised 
when you sent for me, but I — I can endure no more. Jeru- 
sha, forgive me if I have done wrong. I would not have 
brought grief to you, but surely it is better that you know 
the truth!” 

“The truth is always best, Ora.” Miss Drake rose, and a 
stem, Spartan gravity had robbed her set features of all 
other emotion as she held out her hand to her friend. “To- 
night shall see the end of more than one living lie!” 

John Wells escorted the trembling woman to her waiting 
car, and scarcely had the attorney reappeared when the 
impostor broke out with an oath. 

“You’re right it will, Miss Jerusha Drake! Lord, what a 
six months I’ve put in, in this pious, hypocritical household! 
Why, you’re all worse crooks than me, every one of you, 
and I’ve got the goods on you! We could have fixed this 
little matter up friendly all ’round if you’d been sensible, 
but as it is I’ve my own story to tell, and by God, I’ll tell 
it!” 

Miles did not look at Scottie but seated himself with 
a laugh. 

“Going to try to stick to that far-fetched blackmailing 
scheme you and that precious partner of yours hatched 
when you found that Andrew Drake had left relatives here 
with money and a social position to lose?” he asked easily. 


268 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Farrell, you can join Marks and his man till I call you. 
Mr. Wells, listen to this for the wildest cock-and-bull yarn 
that two cheap crooks ever conceived! Mr. Hugh Osborne, 
here, is wanted in Victoria for blackmail and forgery now, 
but I have no doubt that we can dig up further counts 
against him. He won’t be extradited until he has been 
tried and served his terms here for fraud , attempted black- 
mail, attempted abduction and several other little items 
growing out of this case which not only I but my colleague, 
Fergus McCready — known as ‘Scottie’ to the Department 
and to half the crooks in America — can prove, providing, 
of course, that Mr. Hobart Drake wishes to prefer the 
charges. If he decides to hand him over to the Australian 
authorities without notoriety that is his own affair. How 
the private papers and letters of the real Andrew Drake 
came into the possession of Hugh Osborne is a question 
which the next official cable will answer.” 

“Oh, you needn’t wait for that!” Osborne remarked 
sullenly. “Andy and I were friends, pals out in that God- 
forsaken country. He was taken down with the fever and 
I nursed him till the end, but before he died he left me every- 
thing. It was all fixed up legal and proper by his own wish 
and I can prove it, though there was little enough to leave, 
for the sheep ranch was a wretched failure, and he’d been too 
proud to write the truth home. Before he died, too, when 
the delirium was on him, he told me how he and his brothers 
had flooded the country here with counterfeit bills long ago, 
but it’s God’s truth I never meant to make use of that then, 
and when I sold the place and drifted down country I only 
took the letters from home that he’d kept for the past ten 
years, meaning to send them back to his folks. It was only 
when I fell in with Gray in Melbourne about a year and a 


BEFORE DAWN 


269 


half ago that I remembered how much I looked like Andy, 
and Gray and I — well, we saw there was a good thing in it.” 

“So Gray came on here ahead and for a year paved the 
way by getting in with Mr. Roger Drake, and then you 
appeared as Andrew and a few weeks ago you began to work 
secretly with your accomplice to terrorize the family while 
yourself pretending to be a victim as well!” Miles declared. 
“You knew you couldn’t get away with that accusation of 
counterfeiting if it came to a show-down, for the ravings of 
a man in delirium, with no other witness at that, wouldn’t 
be taken seriously, and you hadn’t an iota of other so-called 
evidence, but you and Gray knew too, that if you forced 
the men of the family by anonymous threats of notoriety 
to commit ridiculous public acts you could soon put the 
screws on them for money and increase your demands until 
you had bled them white. Roger Drake is a noted scientist 
who could not afford the breath of scandal , such as a crim- 
inal accusation would cause, no matter how flat the case fell, 
and he infinitely preferred the lesser evil of incurring criti- 
cism for eccentricity, which you banked on. Hobart Drake 
was a level-headed financier, but he allowed himself to be 
coerced into making an exhibition of himself and his career 
to be brought to an end in order to protect his sister and his 
young daughter from the worse gossip which threatened, 
while you yourself played the fool before Edward the house- 
man, so that your brothers should believe you, too, had 
received an anonymous communication from this unknown 
and terrible enemy. I am only amazed that they did not 
at the first threat place the matter in the hands of the au- 
thorities or of Mr. Wells, here, but no doubt the dread of 
possible notoriety deterred them. It is well that Miss 
Patricia had the courage of her convictions.” 


270 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


“Is it?” Osborne sneered. “What if Andy told me more 
in his delirium than you know? — What if I’d proved it, if 
I’ve found the evidence that will put Roger and Hobart 
both behind bars, no matter what crooked influence you 
try to bring to bear in their behalf?” 

“If you mean that trumpery lot o’ junk that you and Gray 
were seen to bury under the floor o’ the summer house last 
night, ’tis already in the hands o’ the proper authorities, and 
examined by experts.” Scottie’s face was a study as he 
spoke for the first time, but his tones were matter-of-fact 
and filled with a vast contempt. “Man, you and Gray 
must have ransacked every scrap-heap in the county! 
There’s plenty of old metal there that might have come from 
a foundry or a garage repair shop but nothing else. We’re 
keepin’ the leddy up, Owen lad, and the very sight o’ this 
fellow must be painful to her. Shall we not be on our way 
with our prisoners?” 

“You’re right, Scottie!” Miles resisted an impulse to hug 
his loyal, dour old ally there and then. “Farrell! We’re 
ready to go!” 

“Now or later, I’ll have my say!” Osborne threatened. 
“You think you’ve got me, but I’ll prove my story or break 
you all!” 

“You and your colleague will return tomorrow.” It was 
more a command than a question as Hobart held out his 
hand to his erstwhile servant. “There are one or two minor 
points still to be cleared up, Sergeant Miles, and remember 
we have not made up our minds yet whether we shall prose- 
cute or not. I — I must talk it over with my sister and Mr. 
Wells.” 

“Not with me!” the attorney asserted firmly. “I wash 
my hands of this case! I am going to bed and get what sleep 


BEFORE DAWN 


271 


I can before the early morning train! I’ve been Patricia’s 
counsel in this whole affair, and now that she is married my 
share of the responsibility for her is ended.” 

“Patricia married!” Hobart exclaimed. 

“To Richard Kemp? Oh, I am glad of it!” Miss Drake 
rose. “She is out of this now and the decision rests with us 
alone! I — I only wish that Roger were able to communicate 
with us!” 

“Perhaps tomorrow, but only with his permission, I will 
show you how that tnay be done.” Miles’ eyes twinkled. 
“He and I have had more than one interview in the last 
two days, and in the morning !” 

“You have? You must be a wizard indeed!” Miss Drake 
smiled wanly, and her own eyes, strained and tense with 
mental anguish, turned toward the windows. “ ‘Morning’, 
you said? But it is already growing light. See, it is almost 
dawn!” 

“It is, Miss Drake,” Scottie assented gravely. “The 
dawn of a new day, when mistakes that can’t be remedied 
are forgot and everything takes a fresh start . I ’ ve not given 
your garden the best of attention, I’m afraid, in the few days 
that I’ve been here, but ’tis free of last year’s weeds and all 
poisonous, noisome things, and I’m thinking that next 
summer your posies will be sweeter and more fragrant than 
ever before!” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE NEW DAY 


* ‘ T "Y THAT was the first thing put you on the right track, 

\/\/ Owen lad?” Scottie puffed contentedly on his pipe 
w w as his gaze wandered out over the prim rows of 
evergreens in the nursery to the glass walls of his greenhouses 
glistening in the sunlight and ablaze with the myriads of 
kaleidoscopic blooms within . “ ’Twas not me with my grand 
debut at the country club, nor yet my work as a gardener 
later.” 

“I think it was Andrew himself,” Miles responded. 
“It struck me as odd in my first talk with Wells and little 
Miss Patricia that Hobart and Roger should both have 
made public exhibitions of themselves, but Andrew’s 
fit of supposed insanity took place safe at home, for the 
benefit of one of the servants alone. Then, Wells had 
told me how devoted the brothers were to each other, but 
I saw anything but devotion in Andrew’s attitude toward 
the other two; he was positively enjoying their humilia- 
tion. You learned at the club from old Greer and his 
friends how changed he was, and I could see for myself 
that he was of different caliber from the rest. 

“When I had made up my mind that insanity played no 
272 


THE NEW DAY 


273 


part in the strange events tnat had taken place in the family 
the only alternative left to consider was blackmail, and it 
must have been for some indiscretion or even crime com- 
mitted in the far past. Right then the solution was in 
my grasp, for you had learned that in their youth Roger 
had been interested in chemistry, particularly dyeing, and 
had also experimented in photography, while Hobart 
was a pen-and-ink artist of no mean ability and Andrew 
had worked for a time in a pulp manufacturing plant. 
Pulp, among other things contributes to a rudimentary 
knowledge of paper- making, and the boy had a mechancial 
turn of mind. That old chest of metal junk which we 
carted away from under the floor of the summer house 
and destroyed the morning after we wound up the case, 
Scottie, did not contain the remains of a printing-press 
as you surmised but the relic of a machine for making a 
replica of the silk-threaded paper the government uses for 
genuine greenbacks and had been an original invention of 
the real Andrew. Later I learned from Wells that Hobart, 
during his career as a bank cashier, had taken up engraving 
and printing at a night school. Paper-making, dyeing, 
photography, printing and engraving are the five requisites 
for counterfeiting, and the three brothers had worked 
together. 

“It didn’t come to me even then that the truth was 
staring me in the face until you brought me that twenty- 
dollar bill Rip got knifed over and I found from an old- 
timer that it was counterfeit. It was scorched at one end, 
and knowing that Rip must have found it somewhere I 
concluded that it had been on the dust-heap, where Miss 
Drake must have thrown it among the ashes which she 


274 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


cleaned out of the drawing-room fireplace after I had seen 
her burning something there at midnight. 

“I recalled her words: ‘Ashes, every one. If only the 
first had never been conceived this horror would not have 
descended upon us.’ She had known from the start what 
her brothers were doing, but poverty and crucified pride 
had made her as desperate as they and she did not shrink 
then from even criminal means of rehabilitating the family 
fortunes in the eyes of the neighborhood. How she ob- 
tained possession of some of the bills and why she kept 
them all these years only she can tell, but it was probably 
through a morbid desire for self-torture when remorse 
overcame her for her tacit complicity, as it must have done. 
None of her brothers knew until just before the explosion 
came that she had been wise all the time; they thought she 
believed that mythical tale of an inheritance. I could 
kick myself for accepting it without verification, but 
Wells had taken it for granted and so did I!” 

“It’s no worse than me!” Scottie remarked consolingly. 
“Why didn’t I see that tattoo markon Andrew’s arm when 
he took off his coat there in the garden just before Miss 
Hawks appeared? To be sure my back was to him, but I 
was there to keep my eyes on him and everybody. How 
did you first guess that the Hawks woman knew Andrew 
for an impostor?” 

i “I happened to be in the hall the second time she called 
and saw her face when she ran out of the house like a 
mad woman after a brief tete-a-tete with Andrew. The 
next minute he upset the table and scalded his arm. It 
wasn’t a bad burn, and it occurred to me that it was just 
an excuse for a bandage!” Miles laughed. “I was on the 
lookout then, you see, for a tattooed arm or an attempt 


THE NEW DAY 


275 


to conceal the mark on one, though something ‘young’ 
Charlie Bennington, a former pupil of Roger’s, said to me 
on the Sunday after Patricia’s disappearance threw me 
temporarily off the track.” 

“So you had the audacity on that to go to the Hawks 
woman’s house and tax her with guessing that he was a 
fakir!” Scottie marveled. 

“Psychology, old man! Trust a woman wno has nursed 
a jilted affection for a generation to know the truth; it’s 
instinct!” Miles’ face sobered. “The other one, Gray, 
was the real brains of the scheme. He’s awaiting extra- 
dition, and I had a talk with him the other day; he is 
rather proud of his achievements than otherwise. It was 
he who wrote that devilishly satirical lecture and forced 
poor Roger by anonymous threats to deliver it; he who 
wrote the other anonymous letters, one of which he slipped 
into the house by means of a French window which Andrew 
had left open for him and left on the hall table the night of 
my arrival, to be mixed with the mail next morning. I 
concluded it was some member of the household and 
watched nightly thereafter. He disguised his voice, too, 
for the telephone threats which so agitated the family, 
but he cannot figure out how Roger Drake penetrated his 
habitual disguise.” 

“Roger did, then?” asked the other. 

“Oh yes, it was the shock of that which caused his stroke, 
as he told me later when he grew better, for none of them 
had the slightest inkling as to who their persecutor was, 
and he had become genuinely fond, in his quiet, intense way, 
of the man who was secretly hoodwinking them all. It 
seems that although he was seriously ill on the day following 
his attack of faintness — an attack caused, by the way, by a 


276 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


blackmailing threat over the telephone — he resolved to pa}' 
a call on his friend ‘Grayle’. 

“The latter had a sort of half-laboratory, half-hothouse 
back of his cottage, and he was puttering about in there, so 
Roger, who had caught a glimpse of him through the 
window, decided to slip around without calling the servant 
and announcing his coming. Just as he approached it was 
ordained that Gray should remove his wig — which with its 
shock of white hair must have been heavy and* annoying 
at times — and Roger saw that the elderly naturalist was 
really a young man in disguise, and not a particularly pre- 
possessing young man, at that. The logical reason for it 
came over him with a rush and his only thought was to get 
home and warn his brothers, but he was stricken with the 
word unuttered upon his lips.” 

“He winked it to you, though, Owen!” Scottie’s eyes 
twinkled at the remembrance of Miles’ description of his 
strategy, and then he added: “You had guessed, of course, 
from seeing Andrew and Gray together secretly when they 
professed such open antagonism for each other , and then , too, 
the woman Maizie unwittingly gave you a lead. Did the 
Drakes make good your promise to her?” 

“Yes, and more. She has finished her picture and sailed 
for Australia to open a far finer shop than she had hoped 
to possess. Neither Andrew — Hugh Osborne, rather — nor 
Gray will be permitted to speak in this country, and when 
they reach their destination there are many long years of 
silence before them. Besides, they have not a speck of 
evidence left to corroborate their story, so the Drakes 
are safe enough and I, for one, am glad of it!” Miles rose. 
“That papyrus was curious, wasn’t it?” 

“It was an example of remarkably poor judgment on 


THE NEW DAY 


277 


Roger’s part, picture writing or no, if it was as you said a 
complete record of the way they made their counterfeit 
money,” remarked Scottie. 

“It was more than that; an example of the Drake con- 
science working overtime,” replied Miles. “Roger had 
designed it in the nature of a confession and meant to leave 
it on his death to his intimate friend, Professor Masterson, 
though when Osborne ransacked the storeroom he hoped to 
find something more tangible. Roger gave away none of 
the secrets of the process, you know, and did not implicate 
his brothers but took all the blame himself. They must all 
have endured a thousand deaths in expiation of that early 
crime, and no one else really suffered for it. That output 
came to the attention of the authorities at Washington, of 
course, but they were never able to trace it to its source, 
and no one was brought to book for passing it. 

“Hobart got rid of part through banking channels, and 
Roger through his affiliations with universities and scientific 
societies, but Andrew distributed most of it broadcast 
throughout the country in a coast-to-coast trip as salesman 
for a paper company. That accounts for Hobart’s peculiar 
division of his assets when he retired from Wall Street, 
which so puzzled John Wells.” 

“Don’t think, my lad, that the fine version of the case 
which you gave the night of the show-down pulled the wool 
over that lawyer-body’s eyes!” Scottie grinned. 

“I don’t!” asserted Miles. “The ethics of my procedure 
may be open to question but so were yours, for you cor- 
roborated my statements, and anyway I only did what I was 
unofficially employed to do; found out the persecutors of 
the family and averted further scandal.” 

“There is one thing that still is dark to me.” Scottie 


278 


THE TATTOOED ARM 


pulled at his pipe, and finding it dead, laid it on the mantel. 
“How did Osborne and his confederate know that the paper- 
making machine was buried under the summer house ?” 

“They didn’t, or they would have had it long before; 
They knew it was hidden somewhere about the grounds, 
however, for the real Andrew must have talked a bit more 
in his dying ravings than Osborne told, and I fancy they 
thought the whole paraphernalia was with it, and the secret 
formulae were part of what they hoped to blackmail out 
of Roger and Hobart if Osborne himself didn’t succeed in 
finding them in the house when they had bled them to the 
limit, so that they could make some more of the queer and 
shove it themselves. Well — !” Miles glanced at his watch. 
“I’ve just about time to catch my train, Scottie, old man. 
I envy you this life of yours, I tell you. The Drake case is 
finished and the new day has dawned for all of them; the 
older generation in Europe for a protracted sojourn, and 
Patricia safe and happy with her husband, while the general 
public is none the wiser. I’ll have to go back to the same 
old grind at Headquarters but you can sit out here and tend 
your flowers! Some people have all the luck!” 

“ ’Tis a fine, peaceful life, and Iamnotsayingl don’t enjoy 
it.” Scottie’s eyes roved once more over his domain and 
then back to his friend. “However, lad, if another case 
should come up that an old has-been like me could take on 
with you ?” 

Miles roared with laughter and grasped his hand. 

“Bless you, old scout, we’ll hit the trail together many a 
time in the future, don’t fear, though we may never again 
have the luck to hit a problem as strange as that which 
was solved by means of a tattooed arm!” 

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